Emergence
by dinkleberg
Summary: Had Hawke and Bethany been with the Warden from the start, would the course of Dragon Age history be changed? My take on Dragon Age: Origins with Hawke and his sister accompanying the Warden. Part of an AU six-fic series.
1. Recruitment

**Emergence**

Chapter I: Recruitment

The Circle Tower, to most of its apprentices, seemed like a haven—a sanctuary where they could finally belong. To most of the Circle's hierarchy, it was a tower filled with potential and hope for a better future with these many talents. To the templars, it was a secret prison to restrict the ways the mages could use their destructive powers. To three particular apprentices, however, the Circle Tower was but a temporary home. Logan Amell had no intention of staying here forever, trapped within these cold, stone walls. This notion was supported greatly by his cousins—Garrett and Bethany Hawke.

Logan had been sent to the Tower first, but it was not long before he saw two familiar faces entering the apprentice quarters a few weeks after he had settled in. For the first time in a long time then, he had felt relieved. He was no longer alone. Thankful that they had spent a part of their childhoods together, the three mages had stayed together as close companions ever since, being the only family left to each other.

He was initially surprised that Malcolm would send his children to the Tower, but soon discovered that Garrett and Bethany had been, in fact, snatched from the Hawke family in Lothering by templars. Garrett recalled that it was one of the villagers—perhaps a templar sympathizer—that had leaked the information to the 'proper authorities', and the three made a promise to return to Lothering one day—to return to their family. Logan's father and mother were both apostates—their fates had been kept a secret from him ever since he came to become a Circle mage apprentice, but there was little wonder in what happened to them.

The mutual dislike the three held for the templars only brought them closer together, and they had since spent months discussing potential methods of breaking out of the Circle—but only after their Harrowings. Logan and Garrett had gone through their Harrowing first. A few weeks after Bethany's eighteenth birthday, she finally managed to prove her mettle in the Fade and joined her older cousin and brother. They had passed their tests with surprising ease, and it had even impressed the Knight-Commander, Greagoir.

Irving had his eye on them too, for they were bursting with magical potential. The blood of mages ran in the Amell line and the name Hawke had always been associated with mages—it was no wonder these three were so talented in the ways of the arcane.

But they had no interest in receiving much attention even from the First Enchanter himself, and it worried the old man. He had seen many apprentices in the past attempting to escape, only to end up slain by the templars, and he feared that this would befall the three gifted mages. He had since then kept a close eye on them, much to their annoyance, and had unknowingly forced them to keep a low profile whenever they gathered to discuss plans for a possible escape in the near future.

It was then that Jowan had approached the three, lamenting about how the templars and the senior enchanters were planning to make him a Tranquil. It was convenient and also seemingly right, so Logan and the Hawkes agreed to helping him and his love, Lily, escape the Circle Tower after destroying his phylactery a few nights after their plan had been conceived in the privacy of the single mage quarters, where Logan had been placed with his cousins.

"Did you get the rod of fire?" Bethany asked, as the two older mages stepped in looking tired and worn. "What's wrong?"

"We had to clean out an infestation of spiders in the storage," Garrett growled, his hair even more disheveled than usual. "All for this blasted rod of fire!"

Bethany bit her lip, trying her best not to laugh. Her brother shot her a glare, as they crossed the room over to Jowan and Lily. "Well, here you go," Logan said, handing it to Jowan. "We can head to the repository now."

"Thank you," Jowan said, "You don't know how much this means to me."

"And to us," Logan agreed. He turned to the window and lost himself in the beautiful sunset for a few moments. He had never stepped out of the Circle for so long—he had forgotten what fresh air had smelled like. But it was close, Logan knew, freedom was catching up to them as the seconds went by.

"We wait until nightfall before moving," he added, as an afterthought. "The templars won't lessen their numbers until the sun goes down."

"Right," Jowan nodded, and placed the rod of fire on Logan's desk. "We'll just have to wait—by the way, Logan, the First Enchanter wants to see you."

Logan frowned. "Do you know why?" he asked.

Jowan shrugged. "I don't know, sorry," he replied, "But it should be important."

"It always is," Logan muttered irritably. He turned and made for the door, before turning back to the four. "Don't make the templars suspicious of us. We're already so close to our family," he said, and glanced at Jowan before adding, "And our futures."

* * *

><p>Logan always felt their eyes on him, regardless of whether he was alone or with Garrett and Bethany, but paid them no attention. The templars were always wary of the mages under their charge, always waiting for that moment when one of them would fall and make a mistake and waiting for that moment when they were allowed to strike down just one more mage so that they could rid Ferelden and all of Thedas of one more potential abomination. Logan surged with anger every time he thought about their stupidity and ignorance—their misconceptions have branded them as fools, and yet most mages bow down to their control.<p>

Most mages didn't feel the same way he did, and he wondered why. He wondered why no other mage had felt trapped like a bird in a cage. He wondered how Irving could even withstand the inside of the Tower, after living such a long and probably fruitless—as long as one was in the Tower—life as a First Enchanter. Perhaps they were cowards, just like their templar watchmen. Maybe they were afraid of being killed, and that was why they submitted to a fighting force that was, in reality, much weaker than them.

Suddenly, just as Logan ascended the stairs, he crashed blindly into what he thought was a set of armor that had been misplaced from its usual spot that could have been at both sides of every entrance and regularly along corridors in the tower. He knew the armors were always enchanted, and would come to life in the event of an unwarranted attack. But this was no suit of armor, Logan realized, as he looked up at the Knight-Commander's face.

"Knight-Commander," Logan greeted, his voice carefully neutral, bearing no kind of acknowledgement to the older man whatsoever.

"Ah, Logan," Greagoir said evenly, "What thoughts cloud even your vision, young mage?"

"I don't suppose you think it's any of your business," Logan taunted, raising his eyebrows.

Greagoir looked as though he was about to attack Logan, but the Knight-Commander had, surprisingly, enough self-control. Logan would have liked to see the Knight-Commander lose his temper over nothing—their words exchanged had not been provocative enough for anyone to put the blame on Logan—but he supposed it would never happen, seeing as how he was about to make his escape very, _very _soon.

"Careful with your words, Amell," Greagoir threatened, "Or you'll be joining the—"

"Threatening me, Knight-Commander?" Logan interjected, already knowing what the templar was going to say. "Just so you know, Greagoir, I have no intentions of _joining _the Tranquil. It is something most mages in the Tower regard worse than death, and if you were to _try_—"

"That is enough, the both of you." Over Greagoir's shoulder, Logan could see Irving looking down at the both of them with a look of clear disapproval. _Always the mediator_, Logan thought, _always looking for a neutral way out. _

Greagoir looked scandalized. "First Enchanter! You heard what he said!"

Irving shook his head. "I also heard what you said, Greagoir," Irving said, descending the stairs with care until he was level with the both of them. "You cannot possibly expect me to tolerate such behavior from the both of you forever."

Logan gritted his teeth as he glared at Greagoir, who looked equally frustrated. "I'm sorry, First Enchanter," Logan growled, "I just don't fancy the idea of becoming Tranquil."

"I will not allow that to happen," Irving assured Logan, before turning back to Greagoir. "Knight-Commander, I would advise you to refrain from lashing out at the mages. They are young, just as young Logan here is."

"Young," Greagoir repeated, with disgust in his tone, "You just don't want me to touch your precious talent, Irving, and you know it. It is not a crime to be wary of all the mages—especially the more potent ones that stand out—in case something goes wrong so the templars are ready. Keep defending him like that and you will see the dog biting at his master's hand!"

Logan watched the retreating figure of Greagoir, and shook his head. It almost sounded as though Greagoir knew what they had been planning, but Logan knew better. Greagoir had always been obsessed with the idea that the mages were plotting to stand up and overthrow the templars and rule themselves instead of letting external elements control their way of teaching.

_If they're not careful with their attitude, _Logan thought, _it might just happen one day._

"Logan, this must be the fifth time this week," Irving said with an amused look on his face, "You and Greagoir have been arguing for as long as I can remember."

"He's mostly the reason why these needless fights happen," Logan said heatedly, "He's a tyrant and you _know _it, First Enchanter."

Irving chuckled and patted the young man on the back. "It was not too long ago that I had the same notion you do," Irving drawled, "I was but a young boy, just like you, thrust into the arms of the templars and locked in the Tower. I did not approve of their methods of control, but alas, we must all learn to accept the things that we cannot change."

"Cannot change?" Logan repeated in disbelief. "There are always chances for change. The only problem is that the mages are too afraid to try and fight for their own rights and for fair treatment—"

"That would only give them a reason to persecute us even more," Irving pointed out.

Logan sighed. Irving had always been a neutral figure in the Tower, much to the mages' dislike. Many have felt that Irving should stand up to the templars more, but the old man merely served as a mediator for most matters between templars and mages—matters that had mostly concerned Greagoir and Logan. Ever since his first argument with the Knight-Commander, his friends had begun to look up to him as an example of what mages should become—headstrong and brave. Logan had never appreciated the attention—especially since Greagoir had caught wind of the mages' talk and his attitude towards Logan had become more than just hostile.

"They are a detriment to the mages. They abuse their own power and jump at every chance to strike down even one more mage, as though we are a parasite that has stained Thedas. Perhaps they might even one day decide to call for the Rite of Annulment upon every single mage, if they ever become that ruthless."

Irving shook his head with a small smile. "The templars may be aggressive and strong in their ideals, but they are not mindless murderers, Logan, be mindful of that."

"Yes, First Enchanter," Logan said, deciding to drop the matter altogether. Discussion with Irving would be pointless and a waste of time—Logan knew that nightfall was coming fast, so he decided to go straight to the point. "What was it you wanted to see me about?"

"Ah, I have someone I would like you to meet," Irving said, leading Logan to his office. The mahogany doors swung open as Irving entered with Logan at his side, greeting a dark-haired man with a sword and a dagger strapped to the back of his armor. This was no ordinary man, Logan knew.

"Duncan," Irving said heartily, "Thank you for waiting."

"It was no trouble," Duncan said, smiling warmly at Irving before turning to Logan. "Is this the 'strapping young man' you spoke of?"

"Yes," Irving said, his tone laced with pride, "This is Logan Amell. Logan, this is Duncan. He is a Grey Warden—you know what they are, don't you?"

Logan had spent most of his time in the library with his nose buried in books—not the kind that mages use to look for spells, but history books—and had indeed learnt a lot about Grey Wardens.

"They fight darkspawn," Logan said, "And they protect the lands from the Blights."

Duncan smiled appreciatively at Logan. "This man is well-read," he said approvingly. "You certainly did not exaggerate, Irving."

Exaggerate? What exactly had Irving told Duncan? Logan looked to Irving with a questioning look, but the First Enchanter merely chuckled. Logan glanced at Duncan, who seemed to be constantly observing him—it unnerved him to no end, but he knew better than to show disrespect to a Grey Warden, especially when he was one of the Circle Tower's guests.

He remembered the first time he came across a Knight-Commander from Kirkwall—what was her name? Meredith?—and, in his annoyance for being punished by Greagoir the week before because he had accidentally set a templar on fire, had rushed up to the woman and told her to leave, for 'bullies were not allowed in the Tower, and one was enough'. She seemed a little amused at that time, but Greagoir had seized him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him in the chapel, where he told the initiates to keep a close eye on him for the rest of the day. Irving had merely sighed and shook his head then, but later that night, he had given Logan a long lecture about respecting others.

Despite his dislike for Greagoir and possibly every other Knight-Commander in existence, Logan accepted Irving's pleas and became more reserved around anyone that was of some importance to Irving—anyone that wasn't Greagoir.

"What was I called here for?" Logan asked.

Duncan wasted no time. "The army and the King are gathered at Ostagar, in preparation to fend off a possible Blight. A horde of darkspawn—not a small caravan—have been spotted there, and it would seem that they are to attack and invade Ferelden."

"A Blight?" muttered Logan, frowning.

"The Grey Wardens suspect it to be so, but there have been no signs of an archdemon yet."

'Yet' was a word that did not bode well for anyone, and it worried Logan. "You're here to recruit mages?" he asked, "To fight at Ostagar?"

"Correct," Duncan said, "We need as many as we can get—there is no telling whether the archdemon will make its appearance at Ostagar or how large the darkspawn numbers are. That is why you are here."

"Me?" Logan quipped. "Why me?"

"You are as talented as you are strong, Logan," Irving pointed out, "The most suitable candidate would have to be you, Garrett and Bethany. You are to go in the stead of the Circle of Magi and serve as a protector of Ferelden alongside the army and the Wardens. I did not choose you out of a whim—I chose you because I know you are capable of what I am entrusting you and your cousins with."

Logan leaned against the door. This would almost complicate things entirely—even if this gave him a chance to leave the Tower, he knew that once the fight was over, he would surely have to come back. There would be no escape for him, even if he could once again take a step out of the damn Tower. It was frustrating yet tempting, for he had always wanted to prove his abilities and use them in a real fight, but going back to the Tower was something he knew he could not withstand.

"What if I don't want to?" Logan muttered, "What if I'm not sure?"

"I will be staying here for the night," Duncan said, "You can look for me in the morning and tell me your decision by then. Would that be fine?"

Logan knew he wouldn't be here by morning, but there was no harm in reassuring Duncan for the moment. "Of course," Logan said, nodding, "I would prefer that way, as well."

"Very well then, if that is what you wish," Irving said, although Logan could sense the enchanter's disappointment that he did not jump at the opportunity to represent Ferelden's Circle of Magi at the battlefront. He suspected that Irving was troubled because he had always intended for his three favorite pupils to do something great with their talents—his favoritism was not well-concealed, which was also another reason why Greagoir held a specific grudge against them. "We will meet again in the morning. Logan, would you mind taking Duncan back to the guest room then?"

"Of course." Logan pulled the door open and led Duncan out into the corridor and to his room.

"You seemed troubled back there," Duncan said suddenly.

Logan nearly laughed. He was more nervous than troubled, but felt a little excited at the thought of leaving tonight. He wondered what Duncan's face would look like in the morning when he realized that Logan had already taken off the night before. But most of all, he wondered how freedom would taste like. He suppressed a grin as he shook his head.

"I was just tired," Logan lied, "And I hate this place. You don't see me enjoying myself very often here."

"I see," Duncan said, as though he was going into deep thought about something. It only took them several more steps before they stopped outside Duncan's room. "Well, here we are," Logan muttered, opening the door for the Warden. "Good night, Grey Warden."

"Please, call me Duncan," the man said. "And also, Logan—I hope you will decide to join us in Ostagar."

Logan said nothing as Duncan retreated into his room, and immediately made for his own room where the rest would certainly be waiting in anticipation for him. If everything was carried out as planned, then he would perhaps think about Ostagar afterwards.

His only concern at the moment was cutting his ties from the Circle.


	2. Conscripted

Chapter II: Conscripted

The moment Logan entered the room, he was greeted by several cries of relief merged into one messy uproar and cringed. They had probably been waiting a long time, for it was already dark outside. There was no time to waste, Logan decided; most of the templar patrols would have died down by now. His walk back to his room had been pleasantly uninterrupted and quiet—something he could never find in the daylight.

"Where have you been?" Garrett asked, looking particularly bored. "Jowan almost cried, thinking that you weren't coming."

Logan had to suppress a laugh as he glanced at Jowan, who could only protest in annoyance. "I was not! I was just worried!" he retorted, "I wondered if the First Enchanter had found out about our plan and did something to Logan."

"It was about something else," Logan said, eyeing Bethany and Garrett, "Something I'll have to tell you two later, after we get out of here."

"What's so important that we—" Logan put up a hand to silence Bethany, with a look in his eyes that was unmistakable. They had no time right now, and it would have to wait. Bethany sighed and picked up her belongings, crossed the room and swung open the door. "Come on then," she said, peering outside, "There are no templars on this level."

The trip down to the repository was easy—they had managed to slip past the templars undetected—but they didn't exactly expect whatever was _inside _the repository. The suits of armor had been awakened, and it seemed that there were tears in the Veil. While Logan mended the tears, Garrett, Bethany, Jowan and Lily fought off the sentinels—Logan was quite surprised to learn that Lily knew a bit of fighting—and they eventually cleared the path to their destination: the phylactery storage.

To their dismay, the door was locked, even after they had used the rod of fire on it. "Damn it," Logan cursed, "There has to be another way around. Come on."

He led them on a different route, and eventually ended up in a room filled with artifacts and strange statues—a room certainly valuable to the Circle. At first, Jowan had second thoughts about destroying any part of the room for fear that they might end up in trouble in the event that they were caught, but the rest persuaded him out of his cowardice.

"Stop squirming and help me move this bookcase," Garrett said, walking up to a lone bookcase at the north side of the room, "I'm pretty sure the repository's right behind this wall." Logan and Jowan approached the bookcase and pushed it to one side, only to face a brick wall.

"It's behind this, right?" Logan asked, looking at Garrett, "The mage that told you—she was reliable, wasn't she?"

"Well of course," Garrett said, "Trust me." Logan knocked lightly on the wall and found that it was extremely hard and tough to break, perhaps even by magic—he had hoped that it was hollow; a secret entrance to the repository for the mages in case something went wrong with the main door, but this was another obstacle they would have to deal with. He looked around the room as the rest spread out again to search for anything that might help them, when Bethany piped, "Look at this artifact—I've seen this before!"

"Where?" Garrett asked his younger sister, circling the stone animal. "Not in your dreams, I hope?"

"In a book," Bethany said, smacking her brother lightly on the arm, "It's an artifact used to amplify the normal power of magic. We could try using the rod of fire with this and see if it blows up the wall."

"Won't—won't the templars or anyone else hear us?" Jowan said, suddenly paranoid again.

Logan groaned. "Do you want to destroy your phylactery or not?"

Suddenly, a huge blast of fire was launched straight at the wall—Logan inwardly thanked the Maker that no one had been standing in the way—and sent it tumbling over into the repository in pieces. Logan glanced at the person behind the artifact, and it turned out to be Bethany.

"Maker, you could've blasted someone to bits!" Logan breathed, his heart still pounding from the shock.

Bethany giggled. "You were all wasting time!" she pointed out. Logan shook his head and smirked when he saw Jowan's expression of unbridled terror. He patted Jowan firmly on the back and dragged him into the storage room, filled with countless vials and bottles of different shapes and sizes, but all separated neatly and all labeled with the names of the apprentices that have yet to go through the Harrowing.

It was then that Logan spotted Jowan's. "Jowan, this is yours, right?" he said, staring at Jowan's name carelessly scribbled on a piece of parchment that was torn off and pasted onto one of the bottles.

"That's my phylactery!" Jowan said happily, before making a savage movement to grab them and throw them down the stairs, and then setting the broken bits and liquid on fire. He let out a laugh as his phylactery was reduced to ashes. "I did it… _we _did it! Thank you, thank you! You don't know how much this means to me!"

"Maker," Garrett muttered to his sister, "Was he always this mad, or was he hiding it from us?"

"Keep your voice down," Logan sighed, as Jowan embraced Lily, mad with joy. "Or the templars will hear us!"

"Oh, come on, you'd probably be this happy if it were your phylactery too!" Jowan exclaimed, still holding Lily and beaming.

Logan knew Jowan was right. If it _had _been his phylactery—why, he supposed that destroying it once and for all would certainly feel much better than freedom. The Circle wouldn't be able to track him down anymore—it was a personal goal to achieve alongside Garrett and Bethany once they were out of the Tower, and Logan made sure he remembered it well. He remembered once asking Irving why there were phylacteries for every mage, and remembered Irving explaining it to him with a sad look on his face.

"It is because when mages escape, the Circle will be able to track them down," Irving had said.

"Why would they escape?" Logan remembered himself asking, "If this weren't such a bad place with all these templars, no one would even think of escaping. It would feel like home, for once."

"This doesn't feel like home to you?" He remembered how sad and disappointed Irving had sounded—his favorite student had, after all, rejected everything the Circle was to Irving.

"No," Logan had said, "The templars know that, too. That's why we have phylacteries. They know a lot of people hate it here. The only ones who don't express it are the people who have given up."

Irving had looked surprised, then. Had his words taken effect on the enchanter, or have they simply fallen upon deaf ears? Logan didn't know—and he didn't have time to care. His only concern was getting out of here unscathed and getting as far as he could away from the Circle Tower.

He led them back up the stairs and out of the freezing phylactery storage chamber and found that the exit could now be accessed from his side. They ascended the stairs and out of the repository, only to be faced by Greagoir, Cullen and Irving. Every ounce of hope and excitement that consumed Logan was now non-existent as he looked away when he met Greagoir's angry face, and Irving's disappointed frown.

"Going somewhere?" Greagoir's voice was dripping with what Logan assumed to be triumph—he had finally found a valid reason to put Logan, Garrett and Bethany to their deaths, including Jowan and Lily.

"Well, we were just about to tell you that the repository's _infested _with sentinels!" Garret chipped in, trying to make light of the situation and find an excuse, "The Veil has been torn, so we being responsible and—"

"Responsible!" bellowed Greagoir, taking one step towards Logan and his companions. "There is nothing responsible about the lot of you! We've caught you red-handed this time, Amell, and trying to escape, even! You will suffer the consequences, as every other mage that tried to escape in the past. Your sentence will be death, nothing more, nothing less."

"And what could be worse than death?" Garrett murmured under his breath.

Irving let out a pained sigh. "You should have told me of your plans, Logan," he said, shaking his head.

"I was helping a friend," Logan said coolly, "And my family."

"You have made a serious mistake," Irving sighed, "I cannot help you this time, Logan. I am sorry."

Logan shook his head. "Don't be," he told Irving. "You've helped me in so many ways ever since I first arrived at the Circle. I should be the one thanking you here and now. You've done a lot for me and my cousins—I will not forget that."

"You're just _giving up_?" Jowan cried, "Just like that? After all we've been through—you're just gonna let them take us and turn me Tranquil?"

"So, you destroyed your own phylactery, Jowan," Greagoir growled, "It seems like you've sealed your fate in becoming Tranquil, after all. We were only considering the option at first, but it seems like you've given us the green light."

"No!" Jowan said, lunging at Greagoir and reaching for the templar's dagger, "I just want to get away from here and live with Lily! I'll not let you harm her or my friends!" In one swift movement, Jowan sunk the sharp blade into the palm of his hand and let the blood flow, his eyes fixed on Greagoir, filled with hate and fear at the same time. Logan knew what he was about to do—but he had never expected it. Garrett, Bethany and Lily all had the same look in their eyes—shock.

Jowan was a blood mage.

Before Logan could even make a move to stop his friend, a blinding explosion knocked everyone off their feet as Jowan used blood magic and sent Greagoir and Cullen crashing into the wall before he disappeared, leaving only a pool of blood on the carpeted floor. Logan groaned and struggled to his feet, with Garrett helping both Bethany and Lily up. He staggered over to Irving and helped the First Enchanter up, anger coursing through his veins at Jowan's betrayal.

"He was a good boy, back then," Irving said weakly, "Blood magic is something I never would have expected Jowan to tap into."

"He was a blood mage," Logan growled, "And he will pay for his deception."

Irving could only let out a sigh as he dusted himself. "It could have been prevented, all of this…" Logan winced. It was through him that they were able to destroy Jowan's phylactery and aid in his escape—it was through him that they would never be able to track down the bastard and gut him. Before Logan could even apologize to Irving, Greagoir rushed forth and pulled Logan away from the enchanter and threw him a hard blow in the face.

Garrett rushed forward and shoved Greagoir away aggressively, glaring at the templar. "I don't care if you are the Knight-Commander or the King of Ferelden," Garrett growled, "If you touch him one more time, you will wish you were never born."

"This is treason!" Greagoir roared, drawing his sword and advancing towards Garrett. He swung strongly at Garrett, who dodged easily and managed to deliver one swift kick to Greagoir's shin, causing the templar to cry out in pain and fall to his knees.

"This is for Logan's face, Greagoir," Garrett growled, preparing to strike him in the face. Bethany immediately rushed forward and held her brother back, fear in her eyes.

"Stop, don't make it worse," she told him. The older Hawke looked down at Greagoir with disgust in his eyes, before reluctantly turning away to attend to Logan. Logan reached up to his face and touched his bruise and winced in pain—being punched in the face with an armored fist was certainly something he wouldn't like to experience a second time.

"Enough." Logan looked up upon hearing Duncan's voice. The Warden's imperious tone penetrated the momentary silence as he stepped into view. "I'm afraid you've gone too far, Knight-Commander."

"You're just a Grey Warden," Greagoir retorted angrily, "You have no command over me!"

"He is right," Irving said, "You've crossed the line, Greagoir. Please, step back."

Garrett held a ramrod position and crossed his arms over his chest, keeping a vigilant eye on the Knight-Commander. Duncan stepped forth and observed the group of mages and regarded them thoughtfully. "What will you do with them?" he asked, turning to Irving.

"They will have to die!" Greagoir yelled, his voice echoing all around them like a final death sentence. Logan swallowed hard, his anger rising once more, drowning out the pain as Bethany tended to his bruise.

Duncan looked at Irving questioningly. The First Enchanter sighed deeply, as though he knew that Greagoir's words were absolute, and nodded silently. Duncan shook his head. He did not want to resort to this, but it was the only way if he were to recruit these three mages to the Ostagar war effort.

"Then I will invoke the Right of Conscription on these three young mages," Duncan announced, "They will come with me and become Grey Wardens."

"_What_?" Greagoir walked up to Duncan with a horrified look on his face. "We can't just let them go, after they've helped a blood mage escape from our clutches!"

"The Right of Conscription overrules everything—even the highest of authorities—and will draft anyone into the ranks of the Wardens," Duncan said calmly, seemingly unaffected by Greagoir's maddened expression, "It cannot be refused." The Grey Warden turned to look at the three mages, all of them seemingly surprised at his actions. He assumed that Logan hadn't told them about the impending battle at Ostagar, and decided that he would have to brief them all later along the way.

"Very well." Irving nodded, knowing that it was the only way Logan and the two Hawkes were going to keep their lives. "It is the best way."

"The best? They are traitors! Infidels!" Greagoir exclaimed, waving his sword at them.

Garrett chuckled. "Oh, get over yourself, Greagoir."

The Knight-Commander glared at Garrett, who in turn held an expression of mock terror as he placed his hand on his heart. Bethany hit her older brother as she shook her head—he always seemed to be incapable of grasping the seriousness of a lot of situations. Greagoir looked at Irving, who only nodded with a sort of finality in his eyes—the mages were to become Grey Wardens, whether he liked it or not.

"Fine!" he finally said, throwing his hands up in the air, "Fine. Take them with you—and make sure they never set foot in the Tower ever again!" Greagoir stormed off within the minute, with Cullen following closely behind him.

Duncan smiled as he turned to the three mages. "Pack your bags," he said, and when he noticed them _already _carrying their bags, he chuckled. "Come with me. We will head off to Ostagar shortly."

"First Enchanter?" came Lily's voice. "What… what will happen to me now?"

Irving seemed to consider this for a while, glancing from the young initiate to Logan. Eventually, he spoke. "You will return to your prior duties, initiate. It was not your fault—you were deceived just as much as these three, yes?"

Lily's eyes widened with surprise. "Thank you, First Enchanter, thank you!"

"Lily!" Logan walked up to her, concern in his eyes. "What about… you know…"

"He lied to us, Logan," Lily said firmly, "I cannot bring myself to forgive him. He is no longer the Jowan I knew—the Jowan we both knew. It's all right, Logan. This is where we part—and thank you for everything you've done for… Jowan and I. Though he probably doesn't deserve your loyalty."

Logan's lips stretched into a crooked smile. "And he doesn't deserve your love," he whispered, so that no one else could hear, "But never close yourself off from it. Even though you are an initiate of the chantry… well… it's a big world out there."

Lily smiled appreciatively. "I'll keep that in mind. Andraste be with you, Logan Amell."

He nodded and turned back, and saw that Garrett and Bethany were already saying their goodbyes to Irving. He walked up to them, unsure of what to say. He adjusted his backpack and stood next to Garrett.

"Take care of yourself, Logan," Irving said, "I will always welcome you back home."

Logan shook his head, mildly surprised that Irving still had hoped for Logan to have accepted this prison as a home. Somehow, Logan couldn't blame him. "It's not home," he told the First Enchanter, "But I thank you for everything, as I have said. If I were to remember anything about the Circle, it would be you. Until we meet again, First Enchanter."

Irving smiled as he watched the retreating figures of the three mages, as they followed Duncan into the darkness of the night. "Yes," he whispered, "Until we meet again, my boy."

* * *

><p>"The <em>Blight<em>?" repeated Garret, sitting up from his sleeping bag, "It's starting again?"

Duncan smiled, despite the heavy weight sitting upon his shoulders. Even though these three were young, he had no doubts as to their abilities and strength to come out of the Joining alive. He had no qualms about what they did at the Tower—he only knew that three more Wardens meant a lot to the Fereldan Grey Wardens. Besides, they were endearing—especially Bethany. He just hoped Alistair would be able to handle them.

"It's been so long since the last Blight," Bethany said, hugging her knees as they sat around the campfire, "It's a little terrifying, to say the least."

"It is," Duncan agreed. "Even the strongest of Grey Wardens have faltered in their footsteps when they laid their eyes on the archdemon. It would take a strong fighter to face the creature and defeat it. That is why I chose the three of you."

"I thought we were just chosen just because we're needed to fight," Garrett said, "Not become Grey Wardens—but who's complaining? As long as it gets me away from Greagoir, I'm fine with it!"

Bethany rolled her eyes. "And here I thought you lost your sense of humor because it was scared off."

Garrett chuckled. "Never in a lifetime, little sister," he told her, laying back down on his sleeping bag and looking up at the sky. "That's some sky up there."

"I remember the last time we saw it—remember? The ride to Lake Calenhad—the templars couldn't stop us from peering outside the carriage!" Bethany recalled, smiling at the memory. "You even smacked one of them in the face and they couldn't do anything about it because we were just children."

"Yeah," Garrett said, "The inside of the carriage was dusty and dirty, too. Probably transported a lot of people like us, huh?"

"Yeah," Bethany murmured, "We were so young. Do you remember the look on mother's face?"

"I could never forget," Garrett answered. His voice was suddenly a little shaky and strangled. "She was crying out for us, and a neighbor had to hold her back so she wouldn't run after us." He let out a deep sigh and sat up again. "They killed father, too."

Bethany shook her head and closed her eyes, feeling the tears return after so long. She hadn't cried about her father in such a long time, she almost forgot what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night as a child, calling for her father before realizing that he was already long gone. It was something she never wanted to go back to.

"I am sorry," Duncan said, his tone comforting and sympathetic.

"No, it's okay," Bethany said reassuringly, wiping away a few tears that had escaped. "It's been so long; I think I'm nearly immune to it."

Garrett pursed his lips and glanced at Logan, who was sitting quite a distance away from the campfire. Duncan noticed Garrett looking at his cousin and stood up. "I'll talk to him," Duncan said quietly, "Go to sleep, both of you. We have a long day ahead tomorrow."

Garrett chuckled. "Yes father," he said teasingly, causing Bethany to laugh a little as well. "I haven't said that in years!"

The voices of the two siblings became softer as Duncan approached Logan, who was leaning against a nearby tree. Duncan sat down next to him, trying to guess what he was thinking. Ever since they left the Tower, Logan had become very quiet and reserved—his face had also become barely readable.

"Are you thinking about Jowan?" Duncan asked.

Logan said nothing.

"We all experience betrayal in our lives," Duncan continued, as though Logan had actually responded, "We must learn to live and let live, sometimes, because by thinking of them constantly, we would only be wasting our time. Am I right?"

Logan's face remained the same—empty, emotionless and still. It was almost remarkable how well he could remain so motionless, save for the heaving of his chest as he breathed. "Forget about Jowan," Duncan advised him, "He is no longer important to any of us. Not anymore, at least. Not even to Lily."

"How'd you know that?" Logan said suddenly, turning to Duncan.

"Jowan was holding her hand—and I was observing from afar," Duncan pointed out. "I may be old, but my eyesight is still working."

Logan let out a soft 'hmph' and went back to staring straight into nothingness. "I hate him for what he did to us," Logan said quietly, "After all that we went through for him and Lily—after everything we agreed to just to save his ass…"

"He has no one now," Duncan said, placing a hand on Logan's shoulder, "He is alone, isn't he? He is worse off than the three of you—even Lily. Lily has been given a second chance—something I am sure the chantry would not allow if they knew of her defiance. All of you have found some sort of freedom—except him. He will always run, because he is now an apostate. A blood mage. He is in much graver danger than any of you are now."

Logan seemed to consider this for a moment. "I suppose," he finally said. "It's his loss, right?"

"Right," Duncan agreed, chuckling, "And it is not your fault. It never was your fault. You did the right thing—yes, that's what I said. The right thing. You were a true friend to him and Lily, and your loyalty never wavered until the very last second. That makes you a better man than Greagoir thinks you are. When you have the greatest skills and the strongest abilities, you are a fighter—a warrior. But without character and a steadfast heart, you are worse than even the darkspawn—who possess an unwavering loyalty to their archdemon."

"What a strange comparison," Logan said, feeling slightly amused yet encouraged, "But thank you, Duncan."

"You're welcome." Duncan stood up and offered his hand to Logan. "Now let's get some sleep, shall we?"

Logan smiled, for the first time that night, and took the older man's hand, knowing that he was on his way to a better life, now that he was out of the Circle. Not even the Blight could take away his returning hopefulness for the future.


	3. The Former Templar and the Witch

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay! I've been busy at school this entire week. Anyway, enjoy and leave a few reviews? I'd definitely appreciate it!

Chapter III: The Former Templar and the Witch

The journey to Ostagar had been presumably much more enjoyable, after the three mages had gotten to know Duncan a little better. At first, he had seemed rather intimidating, but in actual reality he was amiable and approachable—and was almost becoming a sort of a father figure to the three. He felt a little overwhelmed when Bethany had told him that during one of the nights at camp, but he eventually felt honored and looked out for them in every way he could.

That was why he felt particularly worried when he had told them to go off and look for Alistair on their own. With Garrett's wit, Duncan was afraid they might get into trouble even before they managed to see even a single darkspawn.

"What do you think this Alistair looks like?" Garrett mused out loud, walking alongside Bethany and Logan.

"Does it matter?" Logan asked, smiling slightly. "I'm just glad we're far away from the Circle. Well, besides some of the mages here. I just hope we don't run into them or else it'd be an awkward conversation."

Garrett grinned. "And of course, not forgetting our lovely Knight-Commander," he added sarcastically. "Do you think he misses us?"

"I think he misses the moment where he almost killed you two," Bethany interjected. "In any case, he's the least of our worries now." Garrett snorted—Logan knew that his cousin would kill to get one more chance at making Greagoir's life hell. While Bethany was the only one that had never wanted to offend Greagoir in any way, Logan and Garrett were the ones who constantly provoked the Knight-Commander and the other templars and mananged to cause them so much distress that one templar had even requested to be transferred to another Circle Tower in Thedas.

That was something both Logan and Garrett were very, _very _proud of.

They trudged through the reasonably flat terrain and passed by several soldiers, and Garrett noticed a few heads turning when Bethany had brushed past them. The soldiers seemed to be snickering and talking about Bethany—the look on their faces were unmistakable—and Garrett decided to turn around and give them something _else _to look at—something that wasn't Bethany.

"Keep your eyes off my sister," Garrett growled, advancing towards the Fereldan soldiers.

"What's it to you, magey?" one of the soldiers taunted, stepping forward until he was almost nose to nose with Garrett.

Logan and Bethany turned around and, to their horror, found that Garrett had managed to find trouble for himself yet again. Logan quickly rushed up beside Garrett and pushed him backwards gently, but his cousin would not budge.

"Come on, Garrett," Logan urged, "This is neither the place nor the time."

Garrett kept his eyes trained on the soldier. "When they're leering at my sister, I can't exactly help it, Logan," he growled, clenching his fist. Another soldier behind placed his hand on his comrade's shoulder and gripped it firmly, as though it was a silent warning.

"Angus, let it go man," the soldier said. "We should be fighting darkspawn, not each other."

"Listen to your friend," Garrett said darkly, "You wouldn't want to go up against a mage—or would you?"

Angus narrowed his eyes and seemed to consider his options, before eventually deciding to let it go. He would have to deal with this mage some other time—especially since he was backed up by two others. He let out a curse and stormed off, shoving Garrett aside roughly.

"I'm sorry about that," the soldier said, smiling apologetically, "Angus doesn't like taking shit from anyone, even if it's his fault."

Garrett crossed his arms and glared at the soldier. "Well, you just keep that conceited moron in check," he said warningly, "Or else you infantrymen will have one less sword arm to fight the darkspawn."

"Garrett," Bethany hissed, pulling her brother back a step.

"Calm down, sister, I'm not about to set anyone on fire just _yet_," Garrett murmured, with a small wink. Logan groaned, and decided to intervene before anyone else got offended. Garrett Hawke was never one to think before speaking—in fact, he never was concerned for the consequences at all, no matter how dire they may be.

He smiled briefly at the soldier before patting the man on the shoulder. "I apologize," he said calmly, "It won't happen again, I assure you."

The soldier seemed to relax a little. "It was no problem," he said, grinning back. "I guess we'll be seeing you on the battlefield later tonight, then?"

Logan nodded. "Maker be with you," he said. Garrett groaned and walked off first, with Bethany following behind him and trying to possibly dissuade him out of hunting down the soldier Angus and gutting him before the battle.

"And you, too." Just as the soldier was about to walk away, Logan suddenly thought of something.

"Say, do you know a Grey Warden named Alistair?" Logan asked. The soldier turned around, and then thought for a moment, closing his eyes and tapping his forehead lightly, before looking back at Logan with a warm smile.

"You're in luck," the soldier said, and pointed to the broken ruins just behind a group of soldiers praying. "I remembered seeing him walk over there with this other mage hounding him. He looked pretty annoyed, and I'm sure he hasn't come out yet."

Logan nodded. "Thanks."

Turning around, Logan could see Garrett and Bethany a distance ahead, and rushed up to them. "I know where the Grey Warden is," he told them, much to Bethany's relief. It turned out that Garrett had been planning to go after Angus after all.

"_Great_," Garrett drawled, rolling his eyes, "How convenient."

"Come on, Hawke, this is not how a Grey Warden should act," Logan said teasingly, punching Garrett lightly in the stomach and leading them north.

"We're not Grey Wardens _yet_," Garrett protested, "And besides, if I killed him before I became a Grey Warden, it wouldn't count. It'd just be a mage."

"A mage that would get executed," Bethany muttered, sighing exasperatedly.

Garrett chuckled. "I'd like to see them try, little sister," he told her confidently, "It'll take more than just some sword to bring me down. Remember when Cullen once attacked me because I was pretending to be possessed by a demon? I got out of it with just a tiny scratch."

Bethany groaned.

They walked through the entire camp as an oppressive heat hung in the sky, a somewhat omen to the hardship that was to come. Logan _did _feel slightly nervous about the battle, but knowing that he wasn't the only one fighting—that made him feel a little less anxious. He had never fought darkspawn once, but he had read up so extensively on the Grey Wardens that he had spilled over into the history books about the Blights, and was—despite his nervousness—looking forward to seeing his first real darkspawn up close.

They walked up a slightly steep slope—Logan noticed that it was actually marble rather than stone, but the years had probably stolen its grandeur and caused the smoothness to fade away, as were the pillars and broken walls of the ruin. He stood in the middle of the structure, in awe for a moment, before he heard two men scuffling just a few feet ahead of them. One of the men was obviously a mage, donning a senior enchanter's robe with a staff strapped to his back, and Logan noticed that he looked rather perturbed and resentful of the younger man that was talking to him.

The light brown-haired man had a rather bemused expression as he spoke to the mage, and sometimes Logan could see a mischievous twinkle in his eye as the mage became even more irritable as the seconds went by. It made him wonder if the man knew who he was offending and whether he had enough sense to know that the mage could easily end him right there and then if he went too far.

And yet, Logan couldn't help but feel slightly amazed at how much fun the man was having, even though they were on a brink of a new Blight.

"I don't _care_ who summons me—I have no time for this," the mage said with a forceful tone, glowering at the man in front of him.

"But, you know, the Revered Mother—"

The mage groaned out loud and threw his hands up in the air in frustration as he stormed off, clearly having reached the end of his patience. Garrett snickered behind him as they watched the mage walk off in anger, and muttered something about the mage 'getting his smallclothes in a twist'.

Spotting no one else around, Logan assumed that this was the person they were looking for. "Are you… Alistair?" he asked, as they approached the grinning man. "We were sent by Duncan to look for you. I'm Logan Amell—this is Bethany and Garrett Hawke, my cousins."

"That I am. Pleased to meet you," Alistair said, chuckling, "You don't happen to be mages, do you?"

"Of course not!" Garrett piped, holding up his staff, "These are just walking sticks, really. What a pain."

Alistair smiled sheepishly at Garrett. "Great—two mages and a jester," he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wait—you're the new recruits, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I said Duncan sent us to find you," Logan said, tilting his head to one side and scrutinizing Alistair. The Grey Warden noticed Logan's scrutiny and scratched his head and grinned, as though that was the only response he could give to crawl out of awkward and uneasy situations.

"Sorry if you haven't noticed, but I'm a bit dense," Alistair admitted shamelessly.

Bethany giggled as she caught his eye, and he chuckled nervously before diverting his eyes back to Logan. "So, I'm Alistair—ex-Templar, Grey Warden—"

"You're a templar?" Garrett exclaimed, gawking at Alistair, "And here I was thinking that we could get along already!"

Alistair sighed. "_Ex_-templar," he repeated, emphasizing heavily on his position. "Which is funny, because I never really became an official templar or hunted any mages or anything like that—oops, sorry, sensitive topic," Alistair added, realizing that he was _still _talking to mages even after the previous enchanter left in a huff. He made a mental note to try and avoid offending more mages on the eve of the battle. "Anyway, if you have any questions, I'm here. If not, let's go back to Duncan."

Logan stepped aside. "Lead the way, Alistair," he said, smiling briefly for a moment.

"I can tell we're going to be going to be great friends," Garrett muttered to Bethany, "This man's like the brother I never had—only stupider."

"Don't be so horrible," Bethany reprimanded her brother, although she smiled when Alistair turned around with a lopsided grin on his face, making sure they were still behind him. "He's not that bad, Garrett."

"Just a few minutes and you already like him," Garrett sighed, "Well, I can't blame you. We've been in the Circle for so long and all the men you see are either old and wrinkly or young, nerdy and scrawny—"

"Garrett!" Bethany breathed, a horrified look on her face as Alistair had visibly caught wind of their conversation and turned back again, slightly intrigued and amused.

Duncan was by a large fire, where two other men stood beside him. Alistair informed them that they were also new recruits, which surprised Logan. One of them didn't look very willing to be there, and the other looked like he had something up his sleeve. He knew the Grey Wardens could conscript anyone, but he didn't expect the Wardens to be so open and magnanimous.

The sky was already getting darker as they surrounded the large campfire, the heat warming them as the night approached. "Good," Duncan said, "You're all here, then?"

"Yeah," Alistair said, glancing up at the sky, "Sorry I took so long—the Revered Mother sent me on one of her errands again."

Duncan raised his eyebrows. "She sent you the sass the mages, did she?" Duncan asked, looking slightly skeptical at the word 'errands'. He knew it was more than just a simple task, but even that didn't bother him much—what bothered him was that even though Alistair was no longer part of the templar order, the Revered Mother still persisted in using him, despite his clear loyalty and allegiance to the Grey Wardens.

Alistair shrugged. "He didn't complain to you, did he?"

"Let's just leave that for another day," Duncan groaned, gesturing for the recruits to come closer so he could begin briefing them. "Now, before we can proceed with the Joining—"

"What _is _the Joining, if I may ask?" Garrett asked, almost sounding serious—but Duncan knew better than that. If there was anyone he knew that couldn't be serious for more than an hour or less, it'd have to be Garrett Hawke. Luckily, his sister and cousin were present to keep him in check.

"The Joining is a secret ritual—something all of you will have to go through once you are done with this task," Duncan said, carefully choosing his words in case anyone else who wasn't a Grey Warden or a potential Warden walked past them, "The Wardens have kept it quiet ever since its inception, and I'm not about to break that tradition. Now, this task of yours will take you into the Korcari Wilds—a place I believe already filled with darkspawn scouts and stragglers from the main group—and you will have to retrieve five vials of darkspawn blood and the Grey Warden treaties a little bit west of here, in an abandoned Warden tower."

"Darkspawn blood?" breathed Bethany, "Is this necessary for the Joining?"

Duncan nodded. "Alistair will take the lead," he continued, "You are to follow his instructions no matter the circumstance. Understood?"

Alistair chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not sure I like this," he admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, "I'm usually a follower, Duncan—"

"I'd lead the group if I could," Duncan said, sighing, "But the king has specifically requested my presence in his tent to discuss the battle plans with Loghain. As much as I know you hate this, you're in charge, Alistair."

The ex-templar groaned. "Great," he drawled, turning to the recruits as Duncan trudged off into the direction of the king's tent, "Well, let's get a move on then!"

* * *

><p>Logan wasn't completely sure if he had confidence in Alistair right now, but what other choice did he have? If he was going to survive this ordeal with Garrett and Bethany, he was going to have to listen to Alistair and hope that the Joining goes well later that night.<p>

Logan had read about darkspawn, yes, but he had never actually come into contact with a real one before. That was why his first encounter with several scouts left him slightly disgusted and shaken as their rotting bodies fell dead to the ground, with Alistair carefully extracting their blood into five small vials. He wondered how Alistair could stand the stench of the darkspawn, but he supposed that Alistair had been a Grey Warden long enough to be able to ignore it, even if Logan knew that the smell was going to stay with them for a while.

That was why it surprised him when Alistair turned back to them with a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, stained with little droplets of darkspawn blood. "You can never quite forget the smell," he said sheepishly, handing the vials to each of the recruits surrounding him, "I'm just trying to avoid it for as long as I can until the real battle starts."

"I don't blame you," Garrett muttered, cringing as he held up the vial. Despite the presence of a stopper, the stench of the blood was still sifting out. Logan put it away irritably—his nose was extremely sensitive—and tried not to think about what they were going to do with the blood later.

Trudging ahead, Logan could already see a distant structure—a fallen tower—and swore he could see several darkspawn moving about. Alistair placed his hand on Logan's shoulder, accidentally staining his clothes, and looked in the same direction. "There it is," he said, squinting, "I hope the treaties are still there… who knows whether the darkspawn grew some brains in the Deep Roads?"

"The Deep Roads?" inquired Logan, frowning, "You mean the darkspawn have been there all this time? Why hasn't anyone attacked them first?"

"That's a good question," Alistair said, grinning, "One I haven't had the guts to ask Duncan yet—he's all 'wait and see', if you know what I mean. Anyway, we wouldn't want to risk our declining numbers in the order, either. If we were a part of the Grey Wardens in the Anderfels, then I suppose we could have done something about their little cubby hole down in Orzammar."

After running into a few more groups of darkspawn, they finally reached the Grey Warden tower—or what was left of it. Logan walked up to the broken chest amongst the debris and knelt down to open it. He yanked it open and was surprised to find that it was empty.

Alistair didn't respond quite well to this. "It's gone?" he breathed, "How can it be gone? Duncan said it was still there!"

Jory swallowed hard. "Maybe some barbarians—"

"Well, well, what have we here?" a dark, sultry voice drawled, startling Logan, who stood up and drew his staff cautiously. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a woman stepping out of the shadows and turned to face her alongside Alistair, who was already in a defensive stance. "Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she said, her golden eyes meeting Logan's cerulean blue ones, "A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come in to these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

Logan frowned—clearly, no one had bothered to tell them that the Wilds had inhabitants _other _than wolves and darkspawn, and yet he wondered how anyone would want to live in such a place.

"So, what say you, hm? Scavenger or intruder?" she probed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Logan gripped his staff a little tighter. "I am neither—the Grey Wardens once owned this tower," he replied, taking one step towards her.

The woman rolled her eyes and shook her head. "'Tis a tower no longer," she said calmly, as though the six of them were of no threat to her at all despite their weapons drawn. "The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse." As though a further challenge, the woman began to walk up towards Logan and then past him, stepping onto a slightly higher ledge, as if she was trying to hint at her superiority—as though she owned these Wilds, and continued, "I have watched your progress for some time—where do they go, I wondered? _Why _are they here? And now, you disturb ashes none have touched for _so _long—why is that?"

"Careful—don't answer her, she's probably Chasind," Alistair muttered to Logan, but was unfortunately not soft enough to escape the woman's ears.

"Ooh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" the woman taunted, smiling devilishly at Alistair with a mischievous glint in her eye. The Grey Warden glared at her, but she paid no heed to him and turned to face Logan again, seemingly more willing to lay her eyes on Logan—because he was her prey? Or was it something else?

Alistair grimaced. "Yes," he replied with a begrudging tone at her mockery, "Swooping is _bad_."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" Daveth said, losing his composure, "She'll turn us into toads!"

The woman scrutinized Daveth with a sort of disgust in her eyes. "Witch of the Wilds," she repeated slowly, curiously, as though she was trying to make sense of the name, "Such idle fancies, those legends—have you no minds of your own?" She looked away from Daveth and back to Logan and seemed to regard him with a little bit more thoughtfulness—if she was one who could be thoughtful at all. "You there, handsome lad, tell me your name and I'll tell you mine."

Logan raised an eyebrow as he reluctantly lowered his staff, sensing no danger from her for the moment. "Logan Amell," he said curtly, and as an afterthought, "Pleasure to meet you."

Garrett snickered. "Was that sarcasm?" he muttered quietly to Logan, who glanced back at him and grinned at the corner of his lips.

The woman smiled slightly. "And _you _may call me Morrigan," she said. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest—something that is here no longer?"

"Here _no longer_?" Alistair exclaimed, glowering in her direction again, "You _stole _them, didn't you—you're some kind of… sneaky witch thief!" Logan restrained himself from rolling his eyes at Alistair's feeble accusation laced with an equally stupid insult as Morrigan broke into an amused grin.

"How very eloquent," she commented dryly, "How does one steal from _dead _men?"

"Quite easily it seems," Alistair said darkly, "Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them."

Morrigan's grin disappeared as she glared at Alistair, her eyes shooting daggers at him. "I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them! Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish—I am not threatened."

Logan sighed. "Then who removed them?" he asked.

"'Twas my mother, in fact," she said simply, her annoyance fading away as she looked back at Logan. Alistair looked scandalized as she smiled briefly at Logan before reverting to an emotionless façade, offended by the differing attitudes that she had given to both him and Logan. _It's not like I want some witch buttering me with her fake smiles, anyway, _Alistair mused, _She probably wants to kill us all… better be careful._

"Can you take us to her?" Logan continued, feeling that they were finally getting somewhere.

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Bethany whispered, looking worried.

Alistair sighed and shook his head. "Doesn't look like we have a choice, but be prepared for anything," he told her. "Honestly, though, I wouldn't be surprised if she just decided to put us in a pot and—"

"Now there is a sensible request," Morrigan replied, sounding rather pleased, "I like you."

Alistair let out a loud snort. "Yeah, yeah, we know how this game works," Alistair drawled, rolling his eyes, "First it's 'I like you!' and then zap! Frog time." Morrigan didn't seem to appreciate his imitation of a feminine tone and ignored him completely, hoping that after this, she wouldn't have to see the fool ever again.

"Come with me, then, and I will take you to my mother," she said, casting one last glance at Logan before walking off first to lead the way to their missing treaties.


	4. The Joining

**A/N: **Here's chapter four! Enjoy :) and do leave some reviews. Thanks for reading :)

Chapter IV: The Joining

To Logan's dismay, Morrigan lived in a small cottage with her mother in the middle of the Wilds. It didn't seem to bother her as she led them towards an old woman standing in front of the cottage, already observing them from afar as though she had been expecting them. Morrigan walked up to her and gestured to the group behind her.

"Greetings mother," she said, her tone a little too formal for Logan to even believe that they were mother and daughter, "I bring before you six Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them, girl," the older woman said, her golden eyes following the six as they approached her. "Hm, much as I expected." Despite her frail figure, Logan had a feeling that she was not someone to be taken lightly—how could an old woman and her daughter live in the Korcari Wilds for so long without being overrun by darkspawn or even the Chasind?—and made sure that he chose his words carefully.

Alistair, on the other hand, didn't seem to think the same. "Are we supposed to believe that you were expecting us?" he said bluntly, earning a swift punch from Daveth on the arm. "Ow, hey!"

Morrigan's mother wasn't amused. "You are required to do nothing, least of all _believe_," she said, her tone growing darker. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide—either way, one's a fool."

"She's a witch, I tell you," Daveth whispered, "We shouldn't even be talking to her!"

"Shut _up _with the witches already!" Garrett said exasperatedly, "Really, do you thinkthey'd waste their time on a fanatic like you?"

Jory seemed unnerved at the rogue's words, and cast a hasty, frightened glance at the old woman before looking back at Daveth. "Quiet, Daveth! If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?" he said frantically, his eyes growing wider as he realized that Morrigan's mother was looking at him.

"There's a smart lad," the old woman said, chuckling, "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will." Turning to Logan, a small smile flashed across her face but disappeared as quickly as it had come—something that reminded Logan of Morrigan (little wonder why)—and took a few steps forward. She looked upon him with a sort of hopefulness in her eyes, as though she was pinning her hopes and bets onto him like he would be the key to something… something that was a part of the 'larger scheme of things', he presumed.

It unsettled him, but he refused to let her stare get to him. "And what of you?" she asked Logan, "Do you have a different opinion of things?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure what to believe," he said. _I just want the treaties. _Behind him, he could hear Garrett say something like 'there's really no difference between witches and mages' and how he 'can't understand why some people are so dense'. Secretly, he agreed—he knew Morrigan and her mother were of no harm to them, especially when they have withheld the treaties for so long. If they meant them any harm, they would have incinerated the documents a long time ago.

"Wise words," said Morrigan's mother, her eyes softening slightly. "So much about you is uncertain and yet I believe—do I? Why, it seems I do!"

"So _this _is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds," Alistair sneered, a grin stretching across his face as he heaved a sigh of relief. "I thought they were real for a moment—but nightmares always come to an end, don't they?"

"A Witch of the Wilds?" the old woman repeated, thoroughly amused, "Morrigan must have told you that—she fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!" She laughed and glanced at her daughter with a mocking expression on her face. Logan concluded that these two women shared a very peculiar relationship—one he would not like to delve into for fear of uncovering more things that baffled him.

He also noticed that Morrigan was extremely irritable at this point. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, mother," she groaned, rolling her eyes and looking away from the group. Somehow, he figured that she perhaps _did _revel in these legends of the witches and surprisingly enough, he couldn't blame her. For one thing, she walked with a certain kind of ferocity and confidence—something he was sure that a Witch of the Wilds would have to possess.

"True," her mother said, "They came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

"You—" Alistair paused for a moment, registering her words slowly. A sudden realization dawned upon him as he looked at the two women curiously, this time without hostility. "Oh, you protected them?"

"And why not?" she said, handing the documents to Logan, "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them that this Blight's threat is greater than they realize!"

Logan looked down at the worn documents in his hand and looked back up at Morrigan's mother. "That was surprisingly easy," Garrett thought out loud, "Well, can we go back now? I have a feeling there are more darkspawn waiting to set us on fire or possibly even mutilate us—a fate far worse than being turned into a _toad_." He grinned smugly at Daveth and Jory, who were both merely gaping at the sudden turn of events.

"Thank you," Bethany said, stepping forward, "This means a lot to us."

"Yes, that's right," Logan agreed, "This will ensure the Blight's end, I assure you."

She laughed. "Do with them what you will—but do not fail."

"Time for you to go, then," Morrigan said, sounding much more relieved than Logan had expected. He looked at her and smirked, sensing her annoyance at the Grey Wardens' intrusion, to which she responded with the simple rolling of her eyes. If he could spend eternity annoying someone to death, Logan knew it'd have to be her. But it wasn't as though they were going to see each other again, so he pushed that thought away.

"Do not be silly, girl!" barked her mother, "These are your guests!"

Morrigan sighed and shook her head. "Very well," she lamented, "I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

Somehow, Logan knew the trip back was going to be far more amusing for him than anyone else.

* * *

><p>"I <em>still <em>don't know what the blood is for," Garrett exclaimed for what seemed to be the fifth time since their stroll from Morrigan's hut to the camp, and looked at Alistair. "Can't you give us even one small hint?"

Alistair chuckled. "No, I'm afraid not," he said apologetically, "But you have a very annoying kind of determination, I'll give you that. Anyway, don't worry. I was exactly like you when I was your—oh, wait, we're probably about the same age. I meant that I was like you when I was going through _my _initiation."

"You can take your small talk and shove it," Garrett growled, visibly frustrated at Alistair's refusal to say anything about the Joining.

"Patience, magey," Alistair teased. "You'll find out soon—and I'm pretty sure you'll want to forget it right after."

"Yeah, Carver used to call us that when we were young," Garrett reminisced, glanced at Bethany as Alistair walked off to find Logan, "Remember? He used to run around the house all day screaming 'magey' because father was training us."

Bethany let out a laugh. "Yes," she said, smiling, "Sometimes I think he was just jealous of us."

Garrett smirked. "Boy like Carver, I wouldn't be surprised if he was," he said, recalling his memories of Carver, Bethany's twin brother and his younger brother, "I wonder if he's doing well with mother."

"He's strong, even if he is kind of impulsive and rash," Bethany said, tracing circles on the stone table they were sitting around. "I know he'll take care of mother. I know he's taking care of her right now, waiting for us. Right?"

"Right," Garrett said, "And even if he dreamed of his own adventure somewhere else, mother would never let him go. He's the only thing she has left, apart from us, until we go home. They'll be right where we left them—Lothering. Home."

"I hope you're right," Bethany went on, "And Logan… he's sticking with us, right?"

Garrett smiled. Despite just being his second cousin, Logan Amell was more of a brother to him and Bethany. Letting him go would just be criminal—especially when his family was probably gone. He wouldn't just let Logan walk off anyhow—he was going to take care of his family like he always did.

"Of course he is," Garrett asserted Bethany, "He's family—_we're _family. We stick together no matter what."

* * *

><p>It was cold—colder than the night was actually supposed to be—as a tense, loud silence filled the air. The potential Grey Wardens stood side by side—save for Jory, who was pacing back and forth and breaking out in cold sweat—and waited for Alistair and Duncan to return from getting something for the Joining. It was a strange kind of silence—the kind you would only feel if you were only seconds away from getting an angry lecture from your father or seconds away from imminent danger. The Joining seemed to feel like a sort of imminent danger, anyway, as though it was something one would regret once they found out about it.<p>

And yet, if one was to regret partaking in this Joining, Logan knew it'd be far too late by then. He decided to remain calm as he watched Jory pace up and down with a panicked expression on his face, clearly sensing his fear and anxiety.

"The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it," Jory breathed, visibly disturbed by something.

Daveth groaned and shook his head. "Are you blubbering again?" he grumbled, looking irritated and frustrated at Jory's paranoid behavior. Logan suspected that the statues that surrounded them in this broken structure didn't help, either—it seemed as though they were here to be witnesses to something that was far riskier than anything he had ever done so far. Their cold yet unassuming features seemed to be saying that there was no turning back, and it was too late to even try. Jory didn't seem to like that idea.

"Why all these damned tests?" Jory sputtered, slamming his fist against the wall, "Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition," Daveth pointed out exasperatedly, "or maybe they're just trying to annoy you." Garrett let out a snort and Logan grinned—if anyone was trying to annoy any of them, he knew it wouldn't be Duncan. He _would _trust Alistair to come in with a foolish smile and tell them that the test in the Korcari Wilds was all there was to the Joining, but he knew nothing like that would even happen. Not while they still had the darkspawn blood, anyway.

"Maybe we have to drink the blood!" speculated Garrett, smirking as Jory's eyes widened with horror.

"Please," Logan snickered, "As though they would really—"

"I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way," Jory interjected, clearly not appreciating Logan and Garrett's sense of humor. "If they had warned me I'd—it just doesn't seem fair."

Daveth shrugged. "Would you have come if they had warned you?" he argued, stepping forward, and when Jory's face became uncertain, continued, "Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including sacrificing us?" refuted the nervous warrior.

Garrett shook his head. "You don't even know that for sure," he sneered.

"Garrett," Bethany whispered warningly, "Not now."

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight," Daveth said with finality in his tone.

Inwardly, Logan wanted to agree, but he didn't like the idea of being sacrificed before he even got to see the last of his family—not even if it meant ending the Blight. Somehow, he just didn't seem to like the way the dance was turning out. At first, it felt liberating and it felt like an answer, but now, it was becoming more and more complicated.

What if someone died—what if he had to be the one to tell Aunt Leandra that her oldest son or youngest daughter was dead because they became Grey Wardens? He knew he had a certain responsibility over the two Hawkes, but it was starting to become much heavier.

"You're right," Bethany agreed. "I'd do anything to stop this Blight."

"Now, now, sister," Garrett responded warily, "Don't just throw words around like that—"

"I'm _serious_, Garrett," Bethany retorted, a kind of seriousness and determination burning in her hazel brown eyes, "This Blight could very well put even our family in danger. Don't you want to save them, too?"

Garrett scratched his head and sighed, clearly feeling the same as Logan. "I know, but I'm not going to let you run off into thousands of darkspawn and face an archdemon—not if I can help it anyway," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, "I just don't want to be the one to tell mother that you… you know…"

Bethany's forcefulness seemed to fade as she looked away, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm not going to die, brother," she said sadly, "We're not going to let anyone die." She looked at Logan, who forced a comforting smile. "Right?"

His heart lifted at the fire still present in her eyes. Sometimes, she reminded him of his own mother—what, with that undying passion and determination, it was hard not to think about Revka Amell, the strongest woman in this life—and now she was beginning to give him the strength that was lost when he was snatched from his mother's arms. His smile became more genuine as he walked up to her and took her by the hand.

"I'm not letting any of you die," he promised confidently, "We're all going home together after the Blight. We won't leave anyone behind."

Garrett broke into a small smile—one that wasn't normally cocky or teasing—and punched Logan on the arm. "I'll hold you to it if you'll hold me to mine," Garrett said, "Same promise—no strings attached, this time." Logan laughed—Garrett _did _have a penchant for manipulating the people around him with his charm and then forcing them into a trap without anyone realizing it—and nodded affirmatively.

Just then, Alistair and Duncan returned, with Duncan holding a rather large goblet. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice steely and determined.

"Always," Garrett responded quickly, "You know it."

Duncan smiled appreciatively. "At last, we come to the Joining," he said, placing the goblet on the stone table near them. He gestured to Alistair to come forward, who immediately walked up to the goblet and poured in the darkspawn blood, much to Logan's shock.

"I knew they were going to make us drink it," Bethany murmured, sounding worried, "It won't taste bad, will it?"

Duncan chuckled, but went on nonetheless. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation—so it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Jory swallowed hard and let out a soft whimper. "We're… going to drink the blood of those… _creatures_?"

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you," Duncan stated strongly, looking directly at Jory, "This is the source of our power and our victory."

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint," Alistair explained, sensing their confusion, "We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

"Then we do it now," Logan said, "We are ready, Duncan."

Duncan looked at Logan with a new sense of admiration, for he had never seen one so young accept the Joining so eagerly. Perhaps it was excitement—or perhaps it was something much deeper than just a sense of thrill or the adrenaline pumping through his veins…

And yet, there it was—absolution in his eyes.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining," Duncan announced, looking at Alistair, "But these words have been said since the First—Alistair, if you would?"

The bronze-haired Grey Warden nodded and stepped forth. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant," Alistair declared, bowing his head as though out of respect for the many Wardens before them, "Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn—and should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day, we shall join you."

The words, though simple, were powerful enough to make a strong impact on Logan. He looked at the cup filled with a new sense of confidence and readiness, and did not notice Jory backing away slowly. Duncan strode past them and picked up the goblet and stood firm. "Daveth, step forward," he said, holding the cup up to the rogue.

Daveth took the cup from Duncan and peered at its contents. He flinched when the smell hit him again and then closed his eyes and drank from it. Logan could feel his insides begin to churn and looked away, only to catch Alistair's eye. The Grey Warden smiled encouragingly at him.

After a few seconds, Daveth began to cry out in pain as he clutched his head, stumbling backwards. Suddenly, he looked up at Duncan with his eyes wide open—Logan noticed, with much horror, that his pupils had completely disappeared, indicating that he was probably seeing something—and reached out for help, but the senior Warden could only stand and watch with a sort of remorse in his eyes.

"Maker's breath!" Jory breathed, his eyes filled with fear as he watched Daveth fall to the ground and become limp—lifeless.

"I am sorry, Daveth," Duncan said grimly, before turning to Jory, "Step forward, Jory."

"But… I have a wife," Jory stammered, backing away slowly as he drew his greatsword, "and a child—had I known—"

Duncan's eyes were fixed on him as he stepped forward, holding the cup that he had taken back from Daveth. "There is no turning back," he said darkly.

"No," Jory said, turning even more frightened than before, "You ask too much—there is no glory in this!" He pointed his sword directly at Duncan, who slowly drew his dagger. Logan tensed immediately as Duncan took several more steps towards Jory and the warrior made to strike him down, and watched as Duncan dealt the killing blow to Jory, driving the dagger deep into the man's body as blood splattered all over the both of them.

"I am sorry," Duncan managed to utter, before letting Jory's body collapse, "but the Joining is not yet complete."

Beside him, Bethany clutched her brother's arm and gasped. Garrett remained silent as Duncan withdrew his dagger and placed it on the table, before picking the cup up again and turning to them.

"You were called upon to submit yourself to the taint," he continued, handing the cup over to Logan, "for the greater good."

Logan hesitated a little as he looked into the red, murky substance. A part of him didn't want to end up like Daveth, and another didn't want to end up like Jory. Had he finally reached his end? He gritted his teeth and held his breath as he brought the cup to his lips and felt the disgusting liquid enter his mouth and had a sudden urge to puke everything back out, but forcefully swallowed it down.

A white, hot pain erupted at the corner of his head as he felt Duncan taking the cup away from him and moving on to Garrett and Bethany. _No, _he thought helplessly, _not them… no! _Despite his silent protest, Logan could not move as the pain began to paralyze him. He cried out in pain as a vision of a fearsome High Dragon plagued his mind, and he watched as it turned towards him as though it was actually able to see him. The dragon roared, causing him to shiver with fear as he felt himself fall to his knees and hear the echoes of the cries that undoubtedly came from Garrett and Bethany.

_No… _he thought again, trying to fight the pain away, _they can't die. They can't…_

"From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." The words echoed in his mind as the vision died out and faded into an uncertain darkness as he felt himself slip. The last thought he had was a silent prayer to the Maker—a prayer that Garrett and Bethany did not die just as he was dying.

It was an end he didn't want to meet, but something told him that he wasn't strong enough.


	5. Beginning of the Blight

**A/N: **Thank you for the lovely reviews and thank you for enduring these chapters. I'll speed it up; hopefully not in a way that ruins the entire story. R&R please!

Chapter V: Beginning of the Blight

Logan cracked open his eyes and found Duncan and Alistair hovering over him, concern written all over their faces. He had almost expected himself to die a few minutes ago, but here he was, lying on the cold, hard ground and very much alive. He sat up drowsily, his head still aching from the trauma and possibly from him collapsing after the vivid image of a High Dragon. Rubbing his temple, Logan looked around wearily, panic already rising in him.

"Where's Garrett?" he breathed, looking up at Alistair and Duncan, "Where's Bethany? _Tell _me!" He immediately tried getting to his feet—although it was hard for him to do so after being considerably weakened by the Joining—but was held in place by Duncan, who had more strength than Logan had previously thought.

The Warden patted Logan on the shoulder, and said, "Your cousins are fine. They passed out as well, but awoke earlier so I told them to wait for us with the king. How are you feeling?"

Instant relief washed over the newly initiated Grey Warden as he relaxed and slumped back against the wall, trying to recall the vision—or whatever the Wardens called it, if it was a common occurrence—he had after drinking the darkspawn blood. "I'm fine," Logan admitted, "But nothing you said prepared me for that, Duncan."

Duncan smiled for a brief moment before gesturing to Alistair, who then quickly took out a locket and handed it gingerly to Logan. "This is the Warden's Oath, something we give to every Grey Warden after they have successfully survived the Joining," Duncan explained, as Logan hung it loosely around his neck and tucked it beneath his clothing. "It will remind you of your duty to Ferelden and to Thedas as a Grey Warden."

Logan let out a heavy sigh. "Survived," he repeated wistfully, staring off into the distance as he remembered how Daveth and Jory died, "I never expected…"

"Daveth died bravely," Duncan said, "Although I cannot say the same of Ser Jory."

"He was innocent," Logan argued, shaking his head at the recollection of Jory being stabbed, "Even if he didn't want to comply with the ritual or anything… he didn't deserve to die like that."

Duncan seemed slightly disturbed by the younger Warden's words as he walked over to where he had stabbed Jory, his eyes seeming distant—unseeing, as though he was once again deep in thought. "I am sorry," he said, sighing, "But I could not risk Jory telling anyone else the secrets of the Grey Wardens."

"Don't you feel terrible about that?" Logan asked, his blue eyes full of accusation, "He has a _family _waiting for him in Highever."

"When he came with us, he knew what he had to leave behind," Alistair cut in, clearly disliking the tension between Duncan and Logan, "although he may have regretted it at the last moment, but no one could see that coming. I would have done the same in Duncan's position, and you would have had to do that too if you were."

Logan looked away, visibly dissatisfied with Alistair's answer. "Never mind," he muttered, "It's over now. He's dead, isn't he?"

"What if he had died from the Joining instead?" Duncan asked calmly, "Would you have felt the same way?"

"Maybe," Logan answered indignantly, knowing that if the Joining were to kill someone, it could not be prevented at all, "All I know is that his wife and child will be short of one less husband and one less father."

"It is the way of the Warden," Duncan sighed, "I didn't want to kill him, either. He forced my hand."

"I know," Logan muttered, shaking his head, "Let's just move on."

Wordlessly, Duncan led them to where Cailan and Loghain, along with Garrett and Bethany, were discussing the strategy for the upcoming battle that very night. They passed through many worn out pillars, and it made Logan wonder what Ostagar had looked like before it was reduced to such ruins.

He casted a passing glance at Duncan, who looked considerably troubled. A pang of guilt hit Logan as he realized how much his words had probably affected the senior Warden, and that Duncan had probably never wanted to kill Jory either, and looked away. He wanted to apologize, but the situation was growing much more tense and awkward as they approached the table.

Cailan was already deep in conversation with Teryn Loghain, with a few other figures joining in at the appropriate times. Logan was so busy trying to listen in from afar that he didn't realize Garrett and Bethany were already running toward him from a distance. The older Hawke tackled him and hugged him tightly, almost crushing Logan, and was soon followed by Bethany who put her arms around him as well.

"You're safe," Bethany said tearfully, "We were so worried, Logan."

"I knew you were stronger than that," Garrett added, "You looked too dead back there, you know that? Don't you ever scare us like that ever again!" He punched Logan lightly on the arm, grinning from ear to ear.

"I didn't think I'd make it," Logan admitted sheepishly, scratching his head, "I was more worried about the two of you. Maker's breath, you two…"

They hugged again, but the moment was cut short by Duncan, who cleared his throat loudly. The three mages let go of each other, and realized that the entire group of people, including King Cailan, were staring at them almost incredulously—save for the leader of Ferelden.

"Another Grey Warden," Cailan said happily, circling the table and walking towards Logan with an outstretched hand, "Congratulations, Logan Amell."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Logan said, slightly in awe of Cailan's presence. "But I'm not that special, you know."

"Every Grey Warden is precious in this time of need," Cailan said, waving his hand about and dismissing Logan's modesty, "You are important, yes? Now come, we are just about finished with our preparations."

"Your fascination with the Grey Wardens is unnecessary, Cailan," Loghain growled, obviously annoyed at the interruption, "It also makes you come across as a deluded fanatic." Almost immediately, Logan didn't like the teryn. The man seemed to have a problem with the Grey Wardens, as though they weren't needed at all in this battle, and he looked at Duncan almost disapprovingly as Cailan brushed him off and welcomed Duncan to their gathering. _If he has a problem, he should just spit it out…_

As Logan listened intently to their discussion, he suddenly realized that he had probably gotten into something of a long term commitment to the Wardens. He wondered if they would still be able to return home to Aunt Leandra and Carver, now that they were caught up in a growing Blight in Ostagar. If they failed, then the Blight would take Logan, Garrett and Bethany even further away from where they had originally intended to go. His heart constricted at the thought of never seeing the last of his family again, of Garrett and Bethany being separated from their mother and little brother until after the Blight.

And what if the Blight took away the lives' of their only family?

He shuddered inwardly at the thought, and stopped himself from letting his mind wander too much—he had already forgotten what Loghain had been droning on about a few minutes before.

"…and then the Wardens will signal the rest of my men to assist you in battle," Loghain finally finished, looking rather satisfied with his battle plan. Cailan looked pleased as well, his lips stretching into a grin as he patted Loghain on the shoulder encouragingly.

"That is a marvelous battle plan, Loghain," Cailan said, circling the stone table and walked up to Duncan, "And who better than to light the fire in the Tower of Ishal than one of Duncan's Grey Wardens?" He beamed at the taller man with a sort of hopefulness in his eyes, as Duncan chuckled.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Duncan said reverently, "The Wardens are at your disposal."

"Excellent!" Cailan exclaimed, "We shall prepare the army now. Duncan, I'll leave you to brief your Wardens, yes?" With that, Cailan strode off with the remaining allies, leaving only Alistair, Logan, Garrett and Bethany with Duncan.

They gathered around the campfire again, as Logan felt his shivers stop once he approached the warm flame. "Duncan, have you decided who's going to the Tower of Ishal?" asked Alistair, already reading his equipment.

Duncan nodded. "I will be sending you and the three Wardens," Duncan replied, "Mages always need a melee combatant by their side, lest they are flanked."

"_All _of us?" Alistair asked, his tone laced with much surprise, "What about you? Won't you need anyone to back you up on the battlefield?"

The senior Warden almost smiled despite the seriousness of the issue. "I'll be fine, Alistair," Duncan reassured him, "I will be fighting alongside Cailan and his army. I never thought you'd underestimate me so much." His tone was almost teasing, and it lightened the mood considerably. Logan smiled a little. Despite the incoming danger and despite the worsening situation with the darkspawn, there was still something to smile about, or joke about. It encouraged him as he watched Alistair break into a small smile too, and he knew that nothing would ever be that terrible if people still knew how to feel hopeful and at ease.

"Fine, if you put it that way," Alistair gave in, smirking, "But if you ask me to do anything else, I'll probably have to draw the line. I'm coming down to the battlefield after Loghain's army charges. Even if you ask me to put on a golden dress and dance the Remigold when I get there, I will."

Garrett snorted. "Some imagination _you _have," he teased, unable to suppress a grin.

Alistair chuckled nervously as Bethany giggled as well. "Well, I do look rather fetching in a dress, you know," he said sheepishly, turning red as he caught Bethany's eye again. Duncan groaned.

Logan hid his face in his hands, shaking with laughter, as the mental image of Alistair in a golden dress was conjured in his mind. Garrett punched Alistair jokingly in the chest, saying something about 'holding you to your promise'. He had never felt so light-hearted before, and it was scaring him as much as it was comforting him. The mood gradually became more comfortable, as Duncan finally managed a genuine smile after so long.

"Well, you can wear all the dresses you want after we're done with this," Duncan said, beaming, "But now, duty comes first."

Alistair suppressed his smile. "Of course," he said, his voice cracking a little from laughing too raucously, and inclined his head. "The Tower of Ishal, right?"

Duncan nodded. "Hurry," he told Alistair, and the three behind him, "We don't have much time. You need to be in position before I can give you the signal to light the fire."

"Alright," Alistair said, and turned to the mages, "You ready for this?"

"Yeah," Logan answered, on behalf of the group. In truth, he was not, and he knew neither were Garrett or Bethany. From being taken away from a death sentence, they had been flung into the middle of an incoming Blight that threatened the safety of Ferelden and—if it progressed enough—the safety of the entirety of Thedas. He felt like an even heavier load had just dropped onto his tired shoulders, and felt his insides twist and turn in nervousness as he looked at Alistair.

"Don't worry," Alistair reassured him, "I feel the same way."

"You've been a Warden longer than any of us here have," Garrett pointed out, "I think if anyone is to run away squealing, you should be the last. Right?"

Alistair laughed nervously, tugging at his chainmail gloves. "If you say so," he said, swallowing hard.

"It'll be fine," Bethany chimed in, her optimism almost contagious. "We're Grey Wardens now, and we have each other's backs. We'll get through this together." Alistair grinned at Bethany, his admiration for her increasing by the minute. When he caught Logan staring, he quickly looked away and went back to being subtle about his growing adoration for the young mage.

Logan stretched for a bit when he spotted Duncan's retreating figure in the darkness. "Wait," he said, sprinting towards Duncan. "Wait!"

The older Warden turned back, mildly caught off guard. "I thought you were—"

"I'm sorry." Logan was relieved that it was already dark. Duncan could not possibly see his embarrassed expression in the night, and he wanted to keep it that way. Duncan remained silent, something that didn't seem to bode well for Logan.

"Sorry?" Duncan repeated, after what seemed like an eternity.

Logan began to feel more awkward as he scratched his head, feeling the stares of Alistair, Garrett and Bethany boring into his back. "I'm sorry about what I said the other time," he continued, kicking the dirt in a distracted manner, "I… know you didn't want to let Jory die that way. I know and I'm… sorry for blaming you."

He heard heavy footsteps that were moving towards him, and suddenly, Duncan's hands rested upon his shoulders. It almost felt like Duncan was placing his hope in Logan, although the mage felt that it should be Alistair in his shoes right now, and it almost felt like a goodbye.

"I never needed an apology," Duncan said, "because I know how you felt. I was there, when my Warden-Commander killed a man at my Joining. I didn't speak to him for days after yelling at him the moment I awoke. That is why I've never demanded an apology from you, Logan. When I look at you, I see so much of the younger me in you and it gives me a sense of hope, despite the Blight. If anything were to happen to me, I know you can take my place."

"But Alistair—"

"Alistair may be older than you, but he is still learning how to be a leader. You are a natural born leader, one I know I can place my trust in to end this Blight," Duncan said, his grip on Logan's shoulders tightening. "If I do not return alive from this battle—"

"You will," Logan interjected, not liking the way this conversation was sounding, "You underestimate yourself this time, Duncan. You're just as bad as Alistair."

Duncan laughed. "So it seems," he admitted, "But we must go our separate ways for now. You have a duty, and so do I. Maker be with you, Logan Amell."

"I—Maker be with you, too," Logan said. "Wait for us."

Even in the darkness, Logan knew that Duncan was smiling.

* * *

><p>The tower was cold.<p>

It was cold and empty, save for the dead, mangled corpses that littered the hallways and the corridors. Logan had never seen a more horrific sight, though he knew that there would definitely be more to come the more they ascended the tower, and felt his insides lurch. Alistair looked a little green by the time they made it to the second floor, and it was a surprise he could still hold his sword and hack down the alarming number of darkspawn in the structure.

"This isn't right," Alistair breathed as he stopped in his tracks, panting heavily, "The tower wasn't supposed to be filled with darkspawn—how did they even get ahead from the rest of the horde anyway?"

Logan glanced sideways at Alistair and saw the same look in the Warden's eyes that mirrored his own. _Fear_. Logan wasn't superstitious, but he always figured that once something starts out the wrong way, it would most likely end on a bad note as well. He didn't want to have to come to that conclusion, but his instinct was telling him otherwise. His grip on his staff tightened as he swallowed and let out a deep breath, readying himself for what was to come.

"We can't waste time like this," Logan said, stepping forward and ascending the stairs, "Kill first, ask questions later."

Alistair looked up at the mage with a newfound admiration in his eyes. "You're right," Alistair smiled faintly, "Let's get to the top."

They continued their ascent, dispatching numerous groups of darkspawn at a time. Logan had never in his life felt so drained of his power as they finally reached the top floor, and inwardly blamed the Circle—the harshest, most draining thing Logan had ever done in his time there was the Harrowing, and even that didn't feel half as tiring as what the Wardens were set to do.

He barely had time to regain his energy as he pushed open the door and a giant fist planted itself inches away from his feet. Logan jumped backwards and felt Alistair rush past him, taking point of the battle against a mighty ogre. Logan stood in awe of the fearsome creature for a split second before realizing that they had to back Alistair up, and beckoned to Garrett and Bethany who were both equally as shocked as he was.

"Come on," he yelled, "We need to help him!" They ran into the room and quickly cast defensive spells on Alistair, improving his reflexes and strength.

"You know, I could get used to this!" exclaimed Alistair, dodging the ogre's heavy swings and kicks.

"Shut up and _fight_!" Garrett roared, as the mages dodged the debris that was flying at them.

Logan concentrated on injuring the beast, and flung blazing fireballs at the ogre until he managed to blind the monster. He quickly mustered his remaining energy and trapped the ogre in a crushing prison—from there, Alistair took the lead again and used the chance to decapitate the ogre, earning an unnecessarily huge shower of blood raining upon all four of them, much to Garrett's dislike.

"Don't you do that ever again!" hollered Garrett, wiping the blood off his face while glaring at Alistair.

"Are you alright?" Bethany asked, rushing forward as Alistair walked towards them with a grin on his face, "Do you need any healing?"

Alistair was momentarily stunned when she touched him, but his startled expression disappeared almost immediately. "I'm fine," he reassured Bethany, smiling, "I may have wanted to vomit a little up close, but I'm good."

Logan crossed the chamber over to a dusty old fireplace, a fire already igniting in the palm of his hand. "Do it," Alistair told him, "We've surely missed the signal."

Wordlessly, Logan flung the small fireball at the charcoal, and then intensified it with an even larger flame. Soon, the tower lit up and Logan stopped, his mind resting at ease. It was then that he learned about the importance of staying vigil, as a band of darkspawn scouts appeared out of nowhere and began firing arrows at the four of them.

They had come out so quickly that Alistair did not have time to shield himself from the arrows, and fell to the ground unconscious as one of them managed to hit him square in the chest. Bethany screamed and Garrett stepped forward to shield his sister from the attacks, but was too slow for the darkspawn. Logan witnessed them being shot down by the genlocks, and felt a fury rush through him as he began hurling fireballs at them before they could even reach the bodies of Alistair, Garrett and Bethany.

His onslaught was short-lived, however, as a hurlock ambushed him from behind and smashed its gauntleted fist into the back of his head. He immediately descended into darkness, but not before feeling the painful impact as his body met the concrete ground with a deafening thud that rang in his ears until he heard no more.


	6. The Mantle of a Warden Commander

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay! I've been having examinations this past week, so I didn't get the time to write. Anyway, here it is... chapter 6. Thank you for the reviews and constructive feedback :)

VI: Mantle of a Warden-Commander

In his dream, Logan was falling. Below him came a monstrous shriek as he was engulfed in flames, but he was surprised to feel nothing. Instead of dying, he squinted through half-closed eyes and saw a hand outstretched, as though it was beckoning for him to hold on. Weakly, he stretched out his own and held on to the slender hand of a woman, and felt himself being pulled away from the archdemon below him and out of the Fade.

He cracked open his eyes and sat bolt upright, his heart still racing from the nightmare. He looked down and realized that he had indeed reached out for a real hand, and looked up only to find Morrigan standing beside him, visibly taken aback by his actions.

"Your eyes finally open," she said, slowly pulling away from his loosening grip, and tried to keep a calm tone, "Mother shall be pleased. I have bandaged your wounds and healed whatever I could." She regarded him almost thoughtfully, giving him a once over just in case there was something she missed, and then added as an afterthought, "You are welcome, by the way."

Logan's head began to hurt as he buried his face in his hands, trying to recall what had happened.

"How did I get here?" he asked. The last time he checked, the Korcari Wilds was on the other side of the Ostagar camp, a great distance away from the Tower of Ishal. "What happened…?"

Morrigan looked almost sympathetic as she crossed the room and picked up a new set of clothing for him.

"The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field," Morrigan told him almost reluctantly, as though she did not want him to hear the bad news, "Your king and the rest of his men perished in the battle. However, I cannot say that they did not go down bravely and without a fight."

"They… died?" Logan repeated, his mouth suddenly becoming dry and his heart lurching, "All of them?"

"Yes," Morrigan replied curtly, handing him a pair of cured leather pants and boots along with a dark blue shirt that was sleeveless on the left arm only. The right side of the shirt had a long, black sleeve hanging loosely, and it seemed as though they were made just for a mage. "No one survived, except the four of you. Your friend… he is not taking it well."

Logan held the shirt in his hand, still looking up at Morrigan. "You mean Alistair?" he asked, "He's alive, then?"

Morrigan nodded. "All four of you did," she told him, "Now put those clothes on. They did not come without a price—you owe me the time I have spent on it." Logan looked down at the clothes he was holding again. The more he looked at it, the more it seemed to remind him of Morrigan's own attire. He looked back up at her with a small smile.

Logan got out of the bed and began to dress himself. "That's very thoughtful of you. But where are my old ones?"

"Drenched in blood," Morrigan told him darkly, "Unless you have a penchant for these things, I will not return them. In fact, even if you did want them, I will have you know that I have disposed of them already."

"Thank you," Logan said, his smile stretching even further as he realized they were a perfect fit.

Morrigan, blindsided by his smile, could do no more than to manage a few simple words. "I… you are welcome," she said, almost growing nervous in the presence of an unusually kind man. Alistair hadn't even bothered thanking her when he woke up, and instead began to panic over his unconscious Wardens. The two Hawke siblings had the decency to at least acknowledge her assistance, but she had never come across anyone filled with so much sincerity—especially when it was directed at her.

Logan didn't seem to notice the effect his mannerisms were having on her. "Are they outside?" he asked, blue meeting golden once again. "I need to talk to them."

"Yes," Morrigan asserted, "And mother would like to speak to you as well, Logan. 'Tis your name, is it not?"

"You have a good memory," Logan observed, "And if I have an equally well-trained mind, your name is Morrigan."

The witch almost smiled at him. "Yes, but I insist that you do not dawdle," she said, gesturing him towards the door as she swung it open, "There are far more pressing matters that concern you and my name 'tis not one of them."

Logan stepped out of the old hut and felt Morrigan follow behind him. He approached Alistair first. At the corner of his eye, he noticed Garrett making a sudden movement to approach Logan, but Bethany held him back. He knew why—they had a Blight that was catching up with them, and there would be no time for short-lived reunions.

"Alistair," Logan said quietly, placing his hand on Alistair's shoulder.

The Warden turned around, his eyes widening with an undefined emotion in them—hope? Surprise? Logan could not see—and he let out a soft gasp. "You're alive," he said breathlessly, "I was beginning to think you died back there."

Logan shook his head. "We got lucky," he told Alistair, frowning. Logan knew that he didn't actually know whether it was luck that fell upon them or just a bout of bad luck. Luck, so that they would live to fight another day against the Blight and bad luck, so that they would live to see the light of day with death snapping at their heels every single day. Logan tried telling himself that it was the former, but now that they were alone, he had a hard time trying to do so.

"The rest of the Wardens are dead," Alistair whispered, "All of them—the senior Wardens… and _Duncan_."

Duncan.

_Duncan _was dead.

Logan let out a sigh and buried his face in his hands, feeling lost and frustrated. He suddenly felt the intense desire to just run away, but he knew if he even tried Alistair would be the first to hold him back. _Duty over desire, _his mother had once told him, _which one rings louder in your heart? _He had been raised to regard duty as the more important of the two, but the fear that had lodged itself in him would not budge. He felt himself begin to shiver as he dug his nails into his head, anger and anxiety seething through him as Alistair stared off into the distance, seemingly numb to everything after the loss of Duncan.

A hand rested lightly on his shoulder and gripped him as though offering support, and he reached up to hold the hand of Bethany, a million pressing thoughts rushing through his head all at once. He felt like he was going to faint, throw up and cry all at the same time—they were now lost without a leader along with the rest of the Fereldan Grey Wardens. Could there be a fate worse than this?

"We can't just stay here and mourn," Bethany said quietly, caressing her older cousin's face, "We have to be strong—for Duncan, for all the good men and women that died for us tonight and for Ferelden."

The words left his lips before he could think twice. "But what if we fail?"

"We're not going to," Garrett chipped in suddenly, his hazel brown eyes burning with determination. It almost gave Logan strength again, but he could only look away as he felt hot tears stinging his eyes. He never liked being weak in the presence of others—especially now that he was a Grey Warden, and one of the remaining few at that—even though Garrett and Bethany were the only exceptions.

"How can you be so sure?" Alistair whispered, his shaky voice surely a reflection of Logan's if he chose to speak now. "We're lost without a leader—a man who knows what to do. There are no more Grey Wardens in Ferelden… we're doomed."

Garrett let out a low growl as he turned to Alistair and caught the man by his chainmail and pulled him close. "You've been in this business longer than we have!" voiced Garrett loudly, his grip tightening, "You can't just give up like that and expect the Blight to just go away." He shoved Alistair backwards and into the shallow pond behind him, glaring angrily at the Grey Warden. "What kind of a Grey Warden _are _you?"

Alistair was glaring back at Garrett when Morrigan's mother decided to cut in after watching the scene. "Enough," she said, her tone firm with finality and a sort of fierceness one would expect from any mother, "This talk is as useless as it is unwise. Talk about ending the Blight than turn on each other."

Logan glanced at the old woman. "Did you and Morrigan save us?" he whispered.

"I saved all of you from the tower," she answered, "and my Morrigan healed your wounds. If that is not saving then I suppose we'll have to end the Blight for the four of you as well!"

Immediately, Logan felt embarrassed. They were supposed to be Grey Wardens—the fighters that were sworn to end the Blight and the battle against the darkspawn—but all he could see were a group of lost survivors, lucky enough to escape death at Ostagar. What would Duncan have said to them, if he was still alive and watching them as Morrigan and her mother had? Logan could almost see the look of disappointment on Duncan's face. _Almost_. All too quickly, it felt like Logan was already forgetting the man that saved the lives of him and his cousins.

"Thank you," was all Logan could manage.

"You are welcome—and if you four were wondering, my name is Flemeth," she said, like a teacher introducing herself for the first time to her class. "And you would do well to stop your foolishness and focus on the real threat."

"Flemeth?" Alistair's attention was finally diverted from Garrett the moment he heard her name. "You… are a Witch of the Wilds. _The _Witch of the Wilds."

Flemeth crossed her arms over her chest, looking unimpressed as ever. "And what does that mean to you, boy?" she sneered, "It doesn't matter if I am an old woman or a witch now, does it?"

Alistair gaped at her—clearly surprised to discover the existence of these Witches of the Wilds was not just another myth or legend—as Logan decided to get things moving again; they were wasting too much time. "Can you help us?" he asked, trying not to sound too helpless. "We need…" His voice trailed off as he looked into the horizon, a realization dawning upon him. Against such a large horde of darkspawn, they would need one thing. "We need an army."

"An army?" repeated Bethany, "But who will help us?"

"Have you seen your Grey Warden treaties at all?" Flemeth interjected impatiently, looking at Alistair expectantly. "Do not tell me that you have left them with your now-dead senior Warden…"

"No, no!" Alistair said, his eyes widening in surprise as he began to rummage through his pack and pulled the documents out, "Of course I have them here… yes! These treaties are a list of people we could seek for help! These are the allies of the Grey Wardens, the very people we need to build an army. We just need to contact them and have them give us their word that they will aid us against the darkspawn—why didn't I think of this earlier?"

"Clearly the dim-witted one," Morrigan said coolly, "I _thought _Grey Wardens were much more… professional."

Alistair muttered something incoherent under his breath as he began to read them.

"These treaties… they're not expired, are they?" Garrett asked, walking over to Alistair and reading them. "Dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish elves and…" His eyes widened as he read out the last group of allies. "…the mages of the Circle of Ferelden."

Logan glanced at Bethany, who had a hopeful smile on her face as she took his hand. "We have allies," she said, relief washing over her, "We can still do this, Logan." Logan looked down at her and felt his lips stretching involuntarily into a small smile. Yes, he thought, they still had hope after all.

"Don't mind me," Flemeth cut in, "But dwarves, elves and mages… that sounds like an army to me."

Alistair was clearly beginning to get excited as he stowed them away in his pack again. "And of course!" he exclaimed, "We could contact arl Eamon in Redcliffe—his soldiers were supposed to be in Ostagar. He could help us if we asked!"

"Do you know this arl Eamon?" Logan questioned.

"Personally, yes," Alistair admitted, "He raised me when I was a child. I'm sure I could still easily seek an audience with him…"

"Then it's settled," Garrett said, "We go find this arl of yours and then the other allies. Personally, I'd prefer it if we went to the Circle right after and get that nasty reunion over and done with—"

"So you are set, then? Ready to become Grey Wardens and defeat the Blight?" asked Flemeth, her eyes fixated on Logan. She could see it—his fear had dissipated and been replaced with renewed courage. _He will be the one, _she thought.

Logan looked to his cousins and Alistair, all of whom looked particularly energized with the reemergence of their confidence. He, too, began to feel their demeanor rub off on him as he turned back to Flemeth.

"We're ready," he told her, "Ready as we'll ever be."

"Good, then you must be on your way immediately," Flemeth insisted, "But I have only one request before you leave—take Morrigan with you. I have a feeling she will be of some use yet." She indicated her beautiful daughter standing at the entrance of their hut, who had not been listening to their rambling attentively until now.

Morrigan looked scandalized. "Mother, what is the meaning of this?" she exclaimed, her expression filled with rage and shock. "You would send your own daughter away on a straight journey to death?"

"Didn't you always tell me that you wanted to leave and see the world for yourself?" Flemeth asked, looking at her daughter with a knowing smile, "A world that was different from these wilds, that is."

"Yes, but—"

"No buts, girl," concluded Flemeth, "Besides, they need your help—if they agree, of course." The old witch looked to Logan as though he was suddenly the leader, and he shuffled his feet nervously.

"Don't worry," Logan said, "We'd love to have her along and… and she won't come to harm with us." He glanced at Morrigan, as though seeking approval, who merely rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest, as though in defiance. Logan averted his gaze with as much of a casual air as he could manage and suppressed a smile, suddenly enthralled by her beauty.

"Then it is done," Flemeth announced, and turned back to her daughter, "Morrigan, do try to be nice."

The younger witch sighed with a little melodrama as propriety allowed. "Fine, I will go and pack my things," she drawled, each word carefully laced with an equal amount of bitterness. She went back into the hut and emerged minutes later with her pack, and walked up to Logan. He couldn't help but admire her even from afar and forced himself to look nonchalant as she stood beside him. "So, would you prefer me to add on in your future discussions or would you prefer me to be your silent guide?"

Logan let out a laugh. "No, I'd prefer you speak your mind," he told her, earning a brief smile from her and a very, very shocked Alistair.

"Wait, are you _sure _you want _her _along?" Alistair asked, pulling Logan aside. "She doesn't look like she can be trusted."

"We need all the help we can get, Alistair," Logan persuaded him, "We're as short on numbers as it is."

"Fine," Alistair gave in, "But don't come to me for help when she turns you into a toad." Logan smirked and patted Alistair encouragingly on the shoulder as he returned to the main group.

"Well, come on—what are all of you waiting for?" Logan chirped, the wattage of his smile increasing dramatically as hope and confidence coursed through his veins, "We have an army to build, a Blight to defeat and an archdemon to kill!"

Garrett smirked. "Yeah, but one last thing," he said, glancing sheepishly at Bethany before returning his attention to Logan, "Dibs on the archdemon's head."

"Oh, you wouldn't want that," Alistair countered, grinning. "Trust me. It's _way _smellier than all the blood from that ogre."

* * *

><p>Hours later, Logan met the archdemon in his dreams again. He knew it was the archdemon this time because Alistair had told him about the beast before they fell asleep, and began to feel the familiar, creeping sensation of fear that washed over him as the mighty dragon shrieked monstrously at him. He felt the sudden urge to turn around and run, but his legs wouldn't budge. He looked up at the archdemon as it spread its jaws wide open, about to engulf him in flames when—<p>

"Logan!" Alistair's voice seemed distant and ethereal at first, but after the second or third time calling out his name, Logan finally managed to wake up as the yelling got louder. He forced open his eyes and sat bolt upright and realized that he had fallen asleep under the stars and out in the open. It was no wonder Alistair could wake him up—he distinctly remembered the man offering to keep watch at camp on the first shift after they set up their tents and the fire.

Right now, his face was etched with worry, indicating that Logan might have been thrashing about _too _enthusiastically during his nightmare. He shuddered as he thought about the image of the archdemon again and reached for some water as Alistair sat down next to him, visibly relieved.

"Nightmare?" asked Alistair, smiling faintly at Logan.

"The archdemon, actually," Logan said, downing the water as though his throat had been parched for days when in fact he was trying to concentrate on something else other than the fearsome dragon that haunted his dreams. "Is this normal?"

"Quite," Alistair smiled kindly at him when Logan shot him a look of disbelief, "It's the darkspawn blood, you see. As Grey Wardens, we can not only sense the Blight but… see the archdemon. It's a darkspawn thing."

Logan sighed. "I should've figured," he said moodily, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore. "You could've at least warned me."

"I'm just waiting for Garrett to wake up screaming," Alistair said sheepishly, "I remember my first dream… and my wet pants."

Logan laughed and hugged his knees, suddenly feeling very comfortable in front of the warm fire despite the terrible terrain that they were camping upon and the thin blanket he had slept on.

"I'm pretty sure that would've stopped after the third time," Logan mused out loud.

"Fifth, actually," Alistair admitted unashamedly, "But I'm pretty sure the First Warden had it the worst. No one else was there to wake him up… poor sod."

"The First Warden?" repeated Logan curiously. "Is he still alive?"

"Oh, yes, but not the original First Warden," Alistair stated. "I remember meeting him a few years back when he visited—all the way from the Anderfels, mind you—and introduced himself as Landon or something like that. He's old, but not that old."

"That's not very vague at all," Logan responded sarcastically, to which Alistair laughed heartily.

"I have a habit of doing that," he said unabashedly. "Just a warning."

"I'll take note of that," Logan smirked at Alistair, who merely shrugged and stood up to return to his post at the edge of the camp. He stood up too, and held Alistair back. "No, I'll keep watch—I can't sleep, anyway. You can go to bed if you want."

Alistair smiled sadly at Logan. "I can't close my eyes without seeing Duncan's face in my head."

The familiar, stabbing pain returned almost immediately. Logan shuffled his feet and kicked at the dirt, unwilling to be a part of this conversation. It was too much to bear and too emotional for him to talk about—for now. But Alistair had already begun to reminisce, and he, too, began to remember Duncan.

"I understand," Logan said quietly. The two Wardens stood vigilant in the moonlight, both remembering their fallen leader and benefactor, in companionable silence.

"I think he wanted you to take his place," Alistair suddenly said, "If we survived and the other Wardens on the battlefield with him didn't. It was a crazy prediction on his part, but it came true, didn't it? I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at you—he trusted you and believed in you."

Logan shook his head. "You've been a Warden longer than I have—"

"That doesn't mean—"

"And you probably have more experience in this than I do—"

"But—"

"What if there are other Wardens that survived? Then I wouldn't have to be—"

"I know," Alistair interrupted and held up his hand to stop Logan from speaking even more, "But if you were to give me a choice between leading the Wardens and cheese, I'll have you know that I'm sticking with cheese until the very end. Leadership and responsibility—for others more than myself—that's just not for me. And the surviving Wardens? We'll just have to see if we're _that _lucky, Logan."

"That's a _lot _of confidence right there." Logan couldn't help but look skeptical as Alistair shrugged nonchalantly.

"Whatever you say," Alistair chuckled, "Not that I'm trying to scare you or anything, but I think you're more of a leader than I am to all of us—and to Morrigan, if she allows herself to be commanded by someone else _other _than herself or Flemeth."

Logan groaned. Alistair's words would surely only prepare him partially for the next morning and the rest of the days to come until this Blight was ended, and he only hoped that, by a miracle, they would meet an older Warden somewhere along their travels across Ferelden and have _him _take on the mantle of a leader. Logan was no veteran of war—he was just a mage, forced to become a Grey Warden to escape death and now, forced to become a leader to save his own land.

He wondered how Duncan felt when he was put in charge of the Fereldan Wardens. Logan managed to take comfort in believing that Duncan, too, had been just as deathly afraid of being a leader.


	7. Coming Home

VII: Coming Home

"…pass through Lothering in order to get on the Imperial Highway and to Redcliffe."

For the entire duration of the discussion, Logan hadn't been listening. It wasn't until Alistair mentioned the word 'Lothering' that he snapped out of his wandering thoughts and looked up at Alistair with a surprised look on his face. Garrett and Bethany were both equally caught off guard. Alistair stopped speaking and looked up at them with a sort of apprehension in his eyes, as though he was wondering if he said something wrong or embarrassing.

"Did… I do something wrong again?" Alistair asked nervously, "Or was it my breath?" He chuckled and scratched his head with a sheepish look. "_Look_, if this was about the cheese I had for dinner—"

"We're going to Lothering today?" Logan asked, as though he had heard something he couldn't believe.

"Y-yes," Alistair blinked at Logan with a confused expression on his face, "What—what's wrong with Lothering? You don't know anyone there who's a darkspawn sympathizer, do you? You know, there _are _some crazy cultists out there who think the darkspawn are meant to be worshiped…"

Garrett looked at Alistair with an irksome glare. "You ramble too much, sometimes—you're lucky some people here find _that _endearing," he commented coolly, wincing slightly—but not enough for Alistair to notice—as Bethany stamped her foot on his, coloring up slightly—before continuing, "Lothering is where we lived before the templars took Bethany and me away from our mother and brother."

"Oh." Alistair's gaze dropped to the map before them and looked back up at the three mages who were already exchanging glances with each other. "I guess we have time for a family reunion," he added, looking upon them with what seemed to Logan as an envious expression.

Logan inhaled the crisp, cool air in the morning and walked off as the group separated to pack up and take down their individual tents, imagining what it would be like to see his aunt again. The last time he had seen Leandra Amell was almost eighteen years ago, when his mother had taken him to Ferelden to visit. He had always liked Leandra, and considered her as his second mother. In fact, even if he hadn't acknowledged it himself, Revka would have made sure he did anyway.

His heart stung when he recalled the day he was snatched away from his mother and aunt. They had stayed in Ferelden for several weeks and, on the eve of their departure, templars had burst into the house and seized him roughly from his mother's arms and took him to the Circle of Ferelden. Garrett had been sleeping in his own room and Malcolm Hawke had been away in Kirkwall, which was why Logan had been the first to be thrust into the Circle unwillingly. Even as he closed his eyes every night, Logan could still remember his mother's screams—she had been shouting his name and running after the templars with tears streaming down her face—and buried that painful memory in the deepest corner of his mind as Garrett approached him from behind.

"Can you believe it?" asked Garrett, clearly elated at the prospect of returning to Lothering, "We're actually going back to see mother and Carver."

Logan forced a laugh. "I haven't seen Carver before," he reminded Garrett, "Or Bethany, until the templars dragged both of you in. I have a feeling it'll be an interesting meeting."

"I'm already planning an elaborate prank to shock mother," Garrett announced cheekily, "Maybe we'll pretend we're Tranquil."

"I'm not sure Bethany would oblige to that, Garrett," Logan commented urbanely, "I think she would actually choose to decapitate you before you can even pull that one on your own mother and brother. Think of their hearts…"

"Correction," Garrett grimaced, "My mother's heart. Carver didn't exactly take a liking to me when we were younger—in fact, I think he'd actually start dancing around and rejoicing the fact that his older, _more talented _brother might actually be an empty shell. And _stop _raining on my parade like my little sister!" He swung his staff at Logan and knocked him on the head, his face scornful.

Logan stifled his laughter as he noticed Bethany looking at them strangely from afar, having picked up Garrett's outburst. "Careful, she'll want to question you too," Garrett said warningly, glancing in the direction that Logan was looking and back to his cousin, "Don't you go ruining this for me—I've waited _years _for this."

"Oi, you two!" bellowed Alistair from afar, "I am _not _packing your things for you!"

Garrett groaned. "Alright, _mother_," he yelled back indignantly, turning around and walking back with Logan. Alistair stood akimbo, next to Bethany and Morrigan, and watched them with a sort of tiredness in his eyes. Logan grinned as he noticed the man's weariness—in his honest opinion, Alistair deserved it for refusing to go to sleep even after they spoke last night, saying something about "staying vigilant" and being a "good Warden". Logan swore Alistair had been intoxicated as he recalled the amount of cheese he ate for dinner—or maybe it was just the poor man getting himself upset over Duncan again by thinking too much.

Alistair had been snappish ever since dawn, but Logan could understand why. He still hadn't really gotten over Duncan's death, but he made an effort to stay strong for everyone—especially Alistair. Logan knew Alistair was closer to Duncan than he was, but it still wasn't an excuse to always mope about in camp. Things were hard enough for them as it is and Logan didn't want them to feel even more burdened than they already were.

He gathered up his pack and slung it over his shoulder after making sure no one had left anything behind and walked northwards, unable to contain his eagerness—as were Garrett and Bethany.

* * *

><p>With the exception of Morrigan, the traveling group was chattering incessantly and excitedly about returning to Lothering. The witch seemed to be disinterested in any kind of conversation with the Wardens, something Logan decided to amend later.<p>

Alistair, on the other hand, remained silent as he trailed behind them, his thoughts still with Duncan. Bethany seemed to notice this and discreetly fell back from the main group, with Morrigan a sort of barrier between the now two distinct pairs.

"Are you alright?" Bethany asked, startling Alistair out of his wild thoughts.

He smiled appreciatively at her. "I'll live."

"Do you want to talk about it?" offered Bethany, her brown eyes filled with concern, "You've been awfully quiet."

"I'm not sure if talking about it would make the pain go away," Alistair shrugged as he blinked several times, as though he were chasing his tears away, "Every time I think about him I just feel… so angry."

"At him?"

The question seemed so hard to answer. The answer always changed whenever Alistair thought about it. One moment he would be angry at Duncan for sending _all _of them to the Tower of Ishal, and the next he would be angry at himself for not insisting on going with the main army. Other times, he would find himself seething with rage when he thought about Loghain's betrayal that led to the army's death. _They could have lived! _Alistair reflected angrily. _Things would've been different… _

"I don't know," Alistair finally admitted, shaking his head in frustration, "It's all so hard to take in. Have you… have you lost someone close to you before?"

Bethany laughed, a wistful look in her eyes. "You forget that my brother and I were taken away from our mother," she told him, "And before that, our father was killed by the templars."

"Oh," Alistair's eyes widened with shock, but soon transited to sheer embarrassment as he turned crimson, "I'm so stupid… I'm sorry for asking. I was told before, wasn't I?" He looked away as he berated himself for his own foolishness, hardly realizing that he had never been affected by that aspect of himself until now. Bethany placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly, her smile calming his nerves and causing him to forget the awkwardness from just a moment ago as he looked at her.

"It's alright," Bethany said, shrugging it off, "We forget, sometimes."

"Yes, but I'm particularly adept at that," Alistair scratched his head and laughed, "According to Morrigan, I am stupidity personified."

"It's not that bad," Bethany giggled, "You're not what others say you are."

"And what am I, exactly?" Alistair asked sheepishly, grinning from ear to ear, "I've always wondered that, even after I became a Grey Warden. I'm just… Alistair, aren't I? Just a man trying to do his best for everyone…"

"Who is completely genuine," Bethany finished for him, reddening slightly when she realized the way he had been looking at her. Alistair had a lopsided grin on his face as he gazed at her, almost looking mesmerized as he reluctantly looked frontward so that he knew where they were walking. He had been so absorbed in the conversation that it would actually be mildly shocking if they had gotten lost and separated from the main group.

"Thank you," Alistair said, "Although I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"You're rather confident," Bethany commented teasingly.

"Yes, that's what Logan said too," Alistair conceded smugly. He tugged at the sling of his pack nervously as he felt Bethany's eyes on him, wishing she would look somewhere else so his nerves would settle down. There were so many things about her he'd like to know, but his grief had prevented him from oozing out even an ounce of friendliness—which was why he greatly cherished the conversation—however minute—that they were having at the moment.

Before they could even say anything more to each other, Garrett's voice resonated loudly from the front. "Do you _see _that, Logan? Do you? Bethany—_Bethany Hawke, _where _are _you?" he bellowed, his voice cracking with sheer excitement and ecstasy, "We're home!"

Behind Logan and Garrett, Morrigan groaned. "Is it not obvious enough that we are a traveling band of misfits?" she complained unhappily, "'Tis not that hard to keep one's mouth shut."

"Well, I guess you'll have to get used to it," Logan smirked at her, "Silence is a luxury when you're with Garrett." He indicated his cousin who was already a distance ahead, no longer dragging his feet and attempting to pass the time with small talk.

When Morrigan glared at him, thoroughly annoyed, Logan threw up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright," he conceded with a small grin, "I'll try not to make your life more miserable than it already is."

"'Tis most _wise _of you," Morrigan said unappreciatively, grimacing as they approached Lothering at last.

Garrett and Bethany led the group to the house that they remembered—and hoped—that Leandra and Carver would be staying in. Logan noticed that the two Hawkes began to fidget nervously as they approached the run down hut, and soon began to feel rather unnerved himself—out of excitement rather than fear. They watched as Garrett approached the door and rapped almost too enthusiastically on it.

Minutes later the door swung open. "Malcolm?" the woman gasped, her eyes widening in alarm. Garrett opened his mouth to speak, but nothing seemed to come out as he just stood there, looking upon his mother with a bright smile as Bethany approached her older brother.

"Not Malcolm," Garrett told her, "But that _is _my middle name."

"Mother," Bethany whispered, her eyes brimming with tears, threatening to let loose at any moment. "It's us. We've… we've come home."

Leandra Amell's face—despite being weary and worn just moments before—lit up as a wave of emotions overwhelmed her, ranging from confusion to understanding and eventually turning into unbridled ecstasy as she cried out in joy and embraced her two children, finally come home at last—

"Mother, who's there?" came a voice from the inside of the hut, as heavy footsteps grew louder and much more frantic, "Mother, are you al—" Logan was surprised at how much resemblance the young man had to Garrett, and instantly realized that he was looking at Carver Hawke, the twin brother of Bethany.

Bethany burst into a wide smile as she broke away from her embrace with Leandra and Garrett and engulfed Carver in a hug, as Garrett gave his younger brother a once over. "You haven't been eating, have you?" the older Hawke commented, lifting an eyebrow as Carver wrapped his arms around Bethany, his eyes still fixated on his older brother.

Carver easily ignored that question and brushed it off with another, "Do you realize how much you look like father?"

"You make it sound like a bad thing," Garrett grinned, ruffling his younger brother's hair. "It's been a long time, Carver. Don't I get a hug, too?"

Carver rolled his eyes. "Don't you dare," he said, throwing a light punch at Garrett's arm. "Magey."

Behind them, Alistair snorted and Logan hid his smile with his hand. Leandra's eyes turned to Logan as she stepped forward to take a closer look at Logan and gasped. "You… you're Revka's son, aren't you?" she asked almost in disbelief, as her hand reached up to neaten Logan's stubbornly disheveled hair, "Logan?"

"Aunt Leandra," Logan greeted softly, feeling his heart warm at her touch. She wasn't his mother, but she was good enough for him. It started to feel like home to him. "I can't believe you still remember me."

"Of course I would!" Leandra said, her eyes welling up with tears as she looked from Logan to Garrett and Bethany. "All of you are home—we are a family again."

Logan's smile disappeared the moment Alistair nudged him gently in the ribs. He glanced sideways and noticed Alistair's regretful expression for ruining the moment. That's right, Logan suddenly remembered with reluctance, they had a Blight to finish and an archdemon to kill.

"Are we done?" Morrigan suddenly said, her arms folded as she looked upon them with what seemed to be disdain and—could it be?—jealousy. Leandra looked from Alistair to Morrigan and then back to Garrett, asking, "Who are these people?"

"Our, uh, friends," Garrett replied, "Alistair's a Grey Warden and Morrigan is a witch. We're… we were just passing by to see you and Carver." Logan could already sense the tension rise as Garrett hung his head, having pained him to tell his mother that they were not staying. His felt as though his stomach had abruptly dropped when he saw confusion and fear in her eyes as she looked from Garrett, to Bethany and to him.

"What do you mean you're just passing by? You can't go anywhere—not while the darkspawn are out there—"

"That's exactly why we have to keep moving," Alistair cut in, but Garrett stopped him.

"Mother, the reason why we can't stay is because…" Garrett's voice trailed off as he looked to Bethany and Logan for help, but all they could do was to give him—and each other—their silent support. The eldest Hawke son faced his mother again, hesitating. Logan knew that he didn't know how to tell Leandra that they were going against the Blight itself, but they had no choice. Not anymore—not since Duncan conscripted them. His heart sank a little as he found himself thinking about Duncan again, and pushed the painful thoughts away as he concentrated on where he was.

"What's wrong, dear?" Leandra asked worriedly, caressing her son's cheek, "What's happening?"

"We're Grey Wardens," Garrett said finally, closing his eyes, refusing to see his mother's reaction. "I'm sorry, mother. We—we had no choice. We were conscripted—that's why we were able to get out of the Circle."

Logan could not bear to look at Leandra either, as her gasp pierced the heavy silence. "Grey Wardens?"

"We would have died if it weren't for our conscription," Bethany added, "The templars were going to kill us."

"I can't believe this," Leandra sighed in frustration, "My children—Grey Wardens! You might as well look for death itself!" Her grip on Garrett's shoulders tightened as she edged closer to him, looking upon him with such desperation as though she was silently waiting for him to burst into laughter and tell her that it was merely a joke, and that they would be a family again.

"It was the only way we were ever going to see you and Carver again," Garrett refuted with a shaky voice, "But we will do what we must, as Grey Wardens."

"Aren't there other Grey Wardens that are alive?" Leandra insisted, looking to Alistair angrily, "You can't just take away my children!"

Alistair shook his head grimly. "The remaining Fereldan Wardens perished in the battle at Ostagar alongside King Cailan. We are…" Alistair caught his breath in mid-sentence, staring at nothing in particular—not even Leandra—as though he just had an epiphany. "We are the only ones that can stop the Blight now."

"'Tis a matter far more important than this family reunion," Morrigan chided Leandra with a look of unadulterated disapproval, "Many other families in Ferelden will also begin to lose their sons and daughters to the Blight… the Grey Wardens are here to make sure that does not happen. We must go."

"No," Leandra said firmly, as Morrigan lifted an eyebrow, surprised that the woman would still be so stubborn even in the midst of a Blight.

"Mother…" Garrett looked sadly at his mother. "We can't stay."

"You can for just one night," Leandra insisted fiercely, "Just one more day with my son and daughter." Again, Logan noticed the brief flash of jealousy on Morrigan's face. She caught his eye and instantly looked away, her face becoming unreadable once more. Alistair looked rather sympathetic at this point as Leandra went on insisting that _everyone _stayed the night—if only for one more peaceful night before they took on the Blight on their own—and relented to her plea.

"I hope you have room, mother," Bethany said, with a faint smile.

Leandra mustered all the strength she had left and smiled at her daughter, as she began to usher everyone into the house.

* * *

><p>Dinner was a cosy affair, even though Morrigan had chosen to make herself scarce. Logan knew that she wouldn't run away, but made a mental note to look for her later. Right now, he couldn't tear away from the dinner table. Leandra had cooked the best dishes she could manage, much to everyone's delight. Alistair had been the first to ask for seconds, closely followed by Carver and then Garrett.<p>

"I take it back," Garrett said, smirking at his younger brother, "You eat a lot—and way faster than I do. That's an accomplishment!"

Carver shook his head as though Garrett had said the stupidest thing in the world. "You know I'm never actually going to be better than you already are, brother," he said bitterly, before wolfing down his second helping.

"You think being a Grey Warden is a good thing?" Alistair looked up, visibly amused.

The younger Hawke son shrugged. "Isn't it?" he countered, scrutinizing Alistair, "The one who kills the archdemon is the one that gets all the glory!"

There was a ghost of a smile on Alistair's face as the Grey Warden laughed mirthlessly. "If you say so," Alistair conceded, although something told Logan that Alistair wasn't completely agreeing with Carver's assumption.

After finishing off his third helping of stew, Logan decided to go out and look for Morrigan while the rest stayed indoors. He felt like he had a sense of responsibility over their lives, especially after his conversation with Alistair the night before, and insisted that Garrett stay with them despite the Hawke's protests.

The chilled air sent his hairs standing on end as he strolled through Lothering, observing the ever-busy merchants hard at work—at ripping people off or doing honest work, Logan would never know—as he eventually ventured into the Lothering inn. Seconds after he did, Logan found himself roughly pinned against the wall by a stranger, with several more behind him holding weapons at the ready. Logan reached up and swung his fist as strongly as he could in the man's face, and watched him double over with pain.

"What do you want?" Logan asked coldly, his left hand readily clutching his staff, "Who are you?"

"You're one of the Grey Wardens," the man growled, wiping away the blood from his mouth and nose, "The traitors who left King Cailan to die at Ostagar!" Immediately, a few heads in the inn turned, and Logan felt anger seethe through him as he thought of Cailan and Duncan, and Loghain's betrayal.

"Your lies will get you nowhere," Logan retorted, drawing his staff, "Who sent you? Was it Loghain?"

"Teryn Loghain has ordered your immediate execution to the Denerim guard following the issuing of the bounty on the Grey Wardens," the soldier said, as he drew his sword at the ready. "You have done a great disservice to Ferelden in deserting the king to the darkspawn!"

Logan, unable to control himself, swung his staff with precision and jabbed the soldier right in the eye. "Keep on lying, and I'll take your eyes out!" Logan threatened, as a redheaded chantry sister suddenly stepped in between the two parties.

"Now, now," she said coolly, looking from Logan to the soldiers, "We can settle this the easy way."

"He's spreading false rumors about the Grey Wardens," Logan growled, "Please, step aside, miss. I'll handle this."

"If you side with him, you are a traitor to Ferelden!" the leader spat, pointing his sword to the sister's neck. At that very moment, Logan thought he saw a dangerous glint in the sister's eyes, but it disappeared as soon as it had come. His eyes gradually fell upon the daggers that she was wielding and realized that it wasn't her eyes that had flashed dangerously—it had been the daggers he had not seen her draw.

"Then I suppose I have no choice," she said, her voice tinged with regret, as she kicked the leader aside with such a surprising strength that he fell backwards and toppled over a nearby table.

There was no time to marvel at her skills as the soldiers advanced toward Logan, their swords at the ready. He ducked immediately as a soldier swung his sword at his head and, seeing that his sword was stuck to the wooden door of the inn, jabbed his staff upwards into the man's jaw so hard that a sickening crack could be heard. The soldier fell to the ground, writhing in pain as Logan dodged another sword and found himself back-to-back with the chantry sister, who was busy fending off the leader of the group.

Summoning his mental strength, Logan immobilized the soldier with a paralysis spell and turned around to fight off the leader alongside the chantry sister, who possessed lightning speed skills that he could not help but momentarily gape at.

He quickly pointed his staff at the remaining threat and sent a wave of electricity coursing through his body. The soldier staggered backwards and dropped his greatsword, as the chantry sister delivered a swift kick to his face and sent him falling over and flat onto his face.

She turned to Logan, wiping away the sweat from her brow as she suddenly let out a gasp. Logan turned around only to see the soldier with the broken jaw charge at him with a sword, and barely managed to escape with a cut in his arm as he sidestepped the soldier and watched him turn to ice the moment the door to the inn swung open, with Morrigan stepping in to intervene.

"Alright, alright!" pleaded the soldier, who had managed to pick himself back up from the ground after being shocked by Logan's lightning spell, "We surrender!" Logan pointed the staff dangerously close to the man's jaw, livid with anger.

"They have surrendered," the chantry sister spoke up, resting her hand on Logan's hand and lowering it gently. "There's no need to fight."

"I won't want them running back to Loghain and telling them what happened," Logan said, as Morrigan stepped forward beside him. "And risk more soldiers running after us even after we leave Lothering."

"No, please!" the soldier begged, as he caught sight of his comrades—one paralyzed and the other dead on the ground. "I'm begging you!"

"We've disrupted enough of the peace in Lothering," the sister persuaded him, her brilliant blue eyes filled with seriousness and determination. "Please." Logan looked from the shaking soldier to the chantry sister, considering his options. He looked around and saw that most of the Lothering peasants were cowering in fear, and the bartender rooted to the spot looking a sickening shade of green.

Reluctantly, he lowered his staff. "Take a message to Loghain," he growled, glaring at the soldier.

"Of course!" the soldier said, more than happy to be spared from certain death.

"Tell him that he'll have to try better than this." With that, Logan stepped aside to allow the soldier to leave, after releasing his remaining comrade from paralysis. "Thank you for your help," he said, turning to the chantry sister at last, "Where _does _a sister learn to fight like that?"

"Clearly not in the chantry," Morrigan piped, scrutinizing the sister suspiciously.

"Allow me to introduce myself—I am Leliana," the sister smiled so sweetly at Logan that he was beginning to doubt that the person that had been fighting alongside him a few minutes ago had been the same, "You are a Grey Warden, are you not?"

"Yes… why do you ask?" Logan desperately hoped that she wasn't someone after the heads of the remaining Wardens in Ferelden. With her evident prowess, he didn't want to have to face her in combat, even if Morrigan was at his side.

"I have… seen a vision—from the Maker," Leliana told him, "Of the Blight. I am led to believe that the Maker intends for me to go with you on your travels to stop the Blight."

"Sorry… a _vision_?" enquired Logan, not sure whether he should believe her or not.

"I know it sounds crazy, but it is true," Leliana insisted, her eyes pleading for his understanding, "I am to help you against this Blight, by the will of the Maker. Please, trust me." Logan tilted his head curiously, wondering whether he should classify her as crazy or believe that she was just telling the truth. He considered their current situation for a while, and ultimately decided that help—no matter how strangely it was presented to him—would _still _be help after all.

"Alright," Logan relented, "You may come with us. I suppose we do need all the help we can get."

Morrigan made a noise of disapproval behind him. "Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than mother suspected…"

Leliana burst into a hopeful smile. "Thank you for believing in me," Leliana exclaimed, holding his hands and squeezing them, "We will leave in the morning, yes?"

"Yeah," Logan said, smiling a little, surprised at her optimism. "I'll return here in the morning to look for you."

"Then I will be waiting here," Leliana said, eagerness written all over her face. Logan couldn't help but smile as he left the inn with Morrigan beside him, still showing her disapproval without any thought of keeping it all to herself.

"Don't you worry," Logan told her, "She will be of use to us yet."

Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest, unable to see reason with Logan. "Very well," she agreed slowly, "But if she begins to prophesy my death, then she will be the first to go."


	8. The Imperial Highway

VIII: The Imperial Highway

"Do you have a moment, Morrigan?" The witch spun around, a curious expression on her face. She gazed at the Warden mage for a moment before looking away, unsettled by the way _he _was looking at her.

"What is it?" Morrigan asked, trying not to sound too snappy. She wondered when she became so conscious of her own behavior—especially around one Logan Amell. He led her on a slow walk, side by side, ever so gentle—not quite like the man who had been fighting in the inn.

"I just… wanted to know more about you," Logan's lips stretched into a roguish smile, as they eventually left Lothering and began wandering around the outskirts.

Morrigan averted her gaze with as much self-restraint she could manage, the wind in his disheveled brown hair making him look even more attractive than he was before. She quietly wondered what was wrong with herself—she had never felt so exposed in front of any man (rather, they should feel exposed in front of her)—as she felt his curious gaze still fixated upon her.

"Ask away, then," drawled Morrigan, pretending to look disinterested.

"How _did _you become a shapechanger?" he asked, though Morrigan suspected that he wasn't just interested in her magical prowess and skills.

"I was not born such," Morrigan began to explain, still refusing to meet his eye, "'Tis a skill of Flemeth's, taught over many years in the Wilds. The Chasind have tales of we witches, saying that we assume the forms of creatures to watch them from hiding. When a child is alone and separated from his tribe, that's when we strike, dragging the young boy kicking and screaming to our lair to be devoured." She paused and glanced at Logan, amused to find that his expression had not been that of terror, but rather of fascination. She hoped he didn't believe this useless Chasind bedtime story. "A most amusing legend."

"That _does _sound like something you'd do," Logan said, his attention unwavering like that of a puppy to its master. Morrigan wasn't sure whether she liked it or detested the effect it was having on her.

"Oh?" she wondered out loud, "I truly doubt that children would be worth the effort. They are filthy, smelly things full of tears and snot and trouble. That said, I cannot speak for the tastes of my mother. She has, after all, lived a very lengthy time in the Wilds and done many things I know nothing of." Morrigan scrutinized Logan with an irritated look on her face, clearly not in favor of casual conversation. "Why do you ask? Is there something specific you wish to know?"

"I've never heard of magic like that before," Logan admitted, not hiding his surprise. Despite those long hours and days spent in the vast library in the Circle tower, Logan had indeed never chanced upon a book about shapechangers or any other magic that Morrigan and Flemeth possess. It made him curious—more about her than the magic itself.

"No?" Morrigan questioned, although she had expected no less from the Circle of Magi. Ever _so restrictive and confining of their kind_, she thought bitterly, _truly a prison more than a home—a necessity for ignorant, fearful fools_. "'Tis not unheard of, in the remote corners of the world—there are traditions of magic outside the Circle of Magi, despite what those mages would have you believe.

"Some of these traditions are old indeed, passed down as carefully-guarded lore from one generation to the next. The zealots of the Chantry would uproot all such practitioners if they could, but as luck have it some still exist. My mother is such a one," she went on.

"That's good," Logan agreed, no trace of pretentiousness in his honest eyes—something Morrigan found to be highly baffling, "Such traditions need to be preserved."

"I am surprised you think so," Morrigan said, "Still, 'tis a pleasant thing to hear."

Logan smiled appreciatively at her. "Thank you," Logan said, "That was all I wanted to ask."

"Indeed?" Morrigan suddenly snapped, wondering why he was refusing to show more interest in her than he already was, "Have you an _opinion _on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch?"

"Maybe tied to a flagpole and tickled," Logan laughed, unable to stop himself.

Morrigan felt her cheeks burn at the mental image. "Don't you dare," she hissed, much to his amusement. "If you value your life, of course."

"Fine," Logan said, covering his smile with his mouth for fear of Morrigan becoming even more agitated. "But they're useful, I'll give you that."

"A practical answer at last," Morrigan nodded, as she saw the mischievous look on the Warden's face, thinking becoming rationally difficult for a moment. "Well, let us return lest they deduce that we have been kidnapped and gather a search party."

* * *

><p>In the morning, Logan awoke the earliest. There were only a few streaks of sunlight in the sky, giving the entire village of Lothering a sort of somber look. Remembering that Leliana was probably waiting at the inn, he quickly dressed and left the house silently, not wanting to wake anyone up before they were fully rested. The entire village was silent, save for some hardworking farmers who had risen early to make the best of their time and crops.<p>

Logan watched stolidly as he passed them by. Despite his emotionless exterior, he knew that their future and happiness were now dependent on him and the rest of his friends. He knew that if they failed, Ferelden would be done for. The land would be ravaged by darkspawn, and soon, the Free Marches would soon follow Ferelden's fate. His heart lurched at the thought of losing this battle. It was almost too much responsibility to bear, and he began to feel the familiar fear returning to him.

He hated feeling this way—feeling as though he was the most unworthy choice for a Grey Warden—even though everyone around him—even Morrigan—had already undoubtedly put their faith in his leadership and given him all of their support.

He began to think of what came next, as he paused just outside the inn to see the sun rise. Logan wondered why it still rose—could there still be hope of finding a golden day of peace once more? He felt foolish for being angry at the sun for rising—it just didn't seem right to be greeted by a beautiful morning, knowing that he had a monumental task to accomplish—amass an army and kill the archdemon. Protect Ferelden at all costs and, in doing so, protect Thedas from the taint.

Logan desperately wished that he could find a way to send out a message to the other countries and have them send over their Grey Wardens to assist them. But he knew he had no time for that, which was why he was settling for all the help he could get—starting with Leliana.

The moment he entered the inn, Leliana ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him, her excitement apparently never having gone away since the previous night. "You came!" Leliana breathed, "I was beginning to think that you forgot."

"Leliana, did you even sleep?" Logan asked, noticing that she had even changed out of her chantry clothing into a new set of leather armor.

She giggled. "I tried to," she said sheepishly, as Logan shot her a look of disapproval.

"If you collapse halfway later on, I'm not carrying you!" Logan exclaimed, unable to restrain himself from smiling as she stretched and yawned, her energy obviously wearing out at a rapid rate. "Come on," he offered, "You can sleep with the rest, first. I'm sure they haven't woken up yet. You can take my bed."

The walk back to Leandra's house was interrupted when Logan spotted a caged man in the distance. Leliana noticed the prisoner too, and explained automatically, "He has been there for a long time—the Lothering chantry has put him there for some reason."

"Do you think he can be of help to us?" Logan asked her.

"Only one way to find out."

They walked over to the cage just situated at the edge of Lothering. The man was not human but in fact a Qunari, as Logan observed the prisoner. Suddenly, the Qunari, as though sensing their presence, opened his eyes and glared angrily at Logan.

"I will not amuse you more than I have every other human in this village," the Qunari growled, "Be gone, stranger."

Logan suspected that there would be no room for casual conversation or small talk. The caged Qunari didn't even seem sociable in the slightest, which might be a problem—a problem Logan was willing to overlook. "I was wondering if you'd like to offer your services to the Grey Wardens."

The Qunari frowned. "Grey Wardens?" he repeated, "You are sworn to fend off the Blight and the archdemon, yes? Why would you need my help?"

"I find myself in need of more able-bodied fighters," Logan replied, "In case you haven't heard of what happened at Ostagar, the Wardens are short on numbers."

"I have heard," the Qunari nodded solemnly, "But I will not be able to help you unless you find a way to free me from this cage. Perhaps you should talk to the Mother in the chantry—I believe she holds the key to my imprisonment and freedom."

Leliana shook her head. "I have spoken to the Mother about this," she said, "She will not relent." Logan sighed, knowing that the Qunari would definitely be of great use in their efforts against the Blight, once well-armed and ready for battle. He glanced at Leliana, "Isn't there anything you can do?"

The redheaded rogue smiled and approached the cage. "I thought you'd never ask." Within a few seconds of fiddling with the lock, the cage opened. The Qunari looked curiously at Leliana and Logan, before stepping out of the cage.

"Then you have my word," the Qunari said, "I will aid you against the Blight."

"Then it is good to have you with us," Logan said, stretching out his hand, "I am Logan Amell of the Grey Wardens."

The Qunari looked at Logan's outstretched hand for a moment before shaking it with a firm grip. "Sten of the Beresaad," he replied curtly.

Getting Leliana quietly into the house—Sten had refused to step foot in the house and instead posted himself outside, standing vigilant like a true guardsman—made Logan feel like he was smuggling in a pet his parents wouldn't let him keep. It was almost amusing to see her lay down and instantly falling asleep as Logan left the room, only to see a disgruntled Garrett standing at the doorway.

"You could've told me you wanted some fun," Garrett muttered, smiling tiredly, "I was so sure Morrigan was actually interested in you."

"Firstly, Leliana isn't a prostitute," Logan started, finding it almost hilarious how Garrett could still joke while half-asleep, "She's offered her help and she's joining us. And secondly," he paused for good measure, "How are you so sure Morrigan likes me?"

Garrett's smile turned into a coy one. "You're rather dense, aren't you?"

"Garrett." Logan raised his eyebrows and looked at his cousin expectantly, trying to hide his enthusiasm at this startling revelation. Morrigan, a woman who has never gone so far as to smile for more than two seconds, interested in him?

"I'm just going to go and get ready." Garrett quickly brushed past Logan and disappeared into the other room, which he was sharing with Bethany and Carver. Logan rolled his eyes and set his pack on the table and began to check his equipment and supplies, when Alistair emerged from the room looking rather horrified.

"There's a redheaded girl in our room, did you know that?"

"She's one of us now," Logan said, and began to explain the entire situation to him. Alistair's expression changed constantly throughout—from confusion to fascination and then lastly to shock, when he learned about her vision. "And, we have a Qunari on our side as well."

"What? How did you conjure up a Qunari out of nowhere? And aren't you scared she's actually just mad?" Alistair whispered, "You know, like completely bonkers?"

"I believe in her," Logan said, before adding for good measure, "I believe in her believing in her vision. And the Qunari—Sten—has promised his loyalty to us. I think we're lucky to have him around. What's wrong with another sword?"

Alistair looked utterly bamboozled. "Well… that's one way to put things into perspective," the Warden muttered, scratching his head perplexedly, "Fine, I trust you. But if he turns out to be some other crazy and she starts to see visions about my death—"

"Morrigan's already lectured me enough about that possibility, thank you very much," Logan groaned, as Morrigan came out of the room as if on cue.

"I was actually having a nice sleep," she grumbled moodily, "Until your prophet decided to roll off her mat and tangle her limbs with mine. I will be holding that one against you, Logan Amell—I am no bolster." She stalked off in frustration, choosing to isolate herself elsewhere for the moment.

"Garrett was right, she does like you," Alistair muttered.

Logan said nothing, but only grinned.

* * *

><p>Sten and Leliana, much to Logan's surprise, were received with less suspicion and difficulty than he thought. Morrigan didn't seem to have a problem with the both of them, after Logan had persuaded her for what seemed like the third time in the morning. Alistair trusted Logan, and welcomed them easily, even though Logan knew he still had his reservations about the both of them. Even though Leandra and Carver were highly suspicious of Sten, Garrett and Bethany decided that they trusted Logan enough to trust the Qunari as well.<p>

"Mother, relax," Garrett said, poking Sten casually with the non-lethal tip of his newly acquired Staff of Parlathan—a gift from Leandra the night before having belonged to his father before him, "He doesn't bite, look!"

"Garrett!" Bethany smacked her older brother on the arm, much to Sten's approval. No one else noticed the brief grin that flashed across the Qunari's face but Logan. "Honestly, if you could just give him a bit more respect—"

"I mean no harm, sister," Garrett quickly said, looking to Sten, "You know that, right?"

Sten merely grunted, with no indication of whether he actually agreed or disagreed with Garrett's notion. "Fine," the eldest Hawke said, "Be that way." Garrett looked from his family to the people that he would now be traveling with until the end of the Blight. "Are you sure you want to stay in Lothering, mother?"

"I've been asking myself the very same thing," Leandra said, as Garrett moved to her side, "I was thinking that we could go and live with your uncle Gamlen in Kirkwall." Logan's heart lurched. Kirkwall had been his home before he was forced into the Circle in Ferelden. If it had been many years ago, he would still perhaps regard it as home. Now, Ferelden was his. He wasn't even sure if the Amells were still as wealthy as he once remembered them to be. It was too painful a memory to delve into, anyway.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Garrett asked, as Carver stepped beside his mother almost defensively.

"She knows what she's doing," Carver told him, "And I agree with her. We should go to Kirkwall, unless we plan on getting overrun by the darkspawn. We heard about what happened at Ostagar, remember? And all of you came from Ostagar, too, so I reckon the darkspawn are headed this way inevitably."

Garrett groaned, knowing that what Carver said was right. He didn't want his mother and brother to be mauled to death by darkspawn any more than he wanted them to travel to Kirkwall on their own unless they had a solid plan up their sleeves. "And how exactly do you plan to get to Kirkwall?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently. "You can't just waltz over to the Free Marches."

"I know," Leandra nodded, "A neighbor of ours is moving to the Free Marches as well—says he has some relatives in Starkhaven—and offered us transportation since we're going the same way." Garrett made a small noise of disapproval as he took his mother's hand, looking at her with worry.

"What if something happened to you?" he asked, frowning. "I'd never live it down."

"She has me," Carver voiced out indignantly, "I'm a good fighter—I can protect her just as well as you. So don't worry about us."

Garrett sighed, as Bethany spoke up, "Are you sure about this?" She looked to her twin brother to her mother, obviously harboring the same sentiments as her elder brother. When neither Carver nor Leandra changed their minds, she walked over to her twin and embraced him.

"Maker be with you, Carver," Bethany said sadly, tears welling up in her eyes, "We'll see each other again, right?"

Carver smiled for what seemed like the first time to Logan. Other times, the boy either had an irritable expression or one of indifference. "Of course we will," Carver promised his sister, "And you take care of yourself for me and mother."

Bethany nodded as Carver wiped a few tears from her cheeks. The youngest Hawke son glanced at his older brother, his face with no trace of any acknowledgement except in his eyes. "Brother," Carver said firmly, "Just because you're a Grey Warden doesn't mean you can run around looking for death. If you die then—"

"—then things wouldn't be fun if you couldn't try to beat me all the time," Garrett finished for him with a rueful smile. "I know, Carver."

"Garrett," Leandra said, before looking at Bethany and Logan, "All three of you. Please make it through this. As much as I don't like you being Grey Wardens, I know that you have no choice in the matter. But that doesn't mean you can—" She stopped for a moment, a wave of emotion threatening to escape in her tears, before continuing shakily, "It doesn't mean that you can leave us. You still have a home in Kirkwall, I'm sure of that."

Logan cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the choking feeling. "I'll remember that, Aunt Leandra. We all will," Logan said, and lowered his voice into a whisper so that only Leandra could hear, "And I'll take care of them. I'll make sure they get out of this safely."

"Not at your expense, I hope," Leandra caressed his face, "Revka wouldn't want that."

Logan could only smile as he returned to Alistair's side. "Are we set then?" Alistair asked, looking to Logan. Truthfully, he was never ready for this in the first place, and he knew Garrett and Bethany weren't either, from the way they were reluctantly parting with their mother and brother. As his cousins returned to his side, Logan cast one last look at Leandra and Carver as they went back inside and hoped that they would leave soon, if they were to leave at all.

"Let's go," he said, and began to head in the direction of the Imperial Highway.

* * *

><p>Little more than a minute after they reached the base of the steps to the Highway, a cry resounded. "Someone help us!" someone was yelling, but his pleas were soon drowned out by the familiar darkspawn hisses and snarls. As if on instinct, Logan charged forward first with his staff at the ready with the rest following behind him.<p>

A hurlock charged at the two dwarves that were cowering behind their caravan, but was too slow to notice the ice spell that Logan had casted. It stumbled backwards from the impact, the spell having only hit its armor. Before it could retaliate properly, Leliana's dagger flew right into its forehead, stabbing it square between the eyes. "Good timing," Logan said appreciatively, as Leliana ran over to retrieve her weapon.

Beside Logan, Alistair and Sten were already lunging at the other two hurlocks as Logan and Morrigan took turns to take out the genlocks while Leliana and Bethany ran over to the dwarves to make sure that they weren't hurt.

Garrett had his hands full with an aggressive hurlock alpha, as he repeatedly attacked it with a barrage of fire spells and occasionally delivering swift and agile physical attacks that momentarily stunned the darkspawn warrior. The moment the hurlock lost his balance, Garrett seized the opening and twirled his staff around and stabbed the darkspawn in the head with the blade from his staff, ignoring the blood that spurted freely from the open wound as the darkspawn fell to the ground.

"I have this strange feeling that you like the blood," Alistair joked, grinning at Garrett.

"Don't worry, Alistair, there's plenty to go around," Garrett countered cleverly, as they gathered around the two dwarves.

"Are you alright?" Logan asked, watching the dwarves dust themselves off.

The older dwarf smiled brightly at them. "Mighty timely arrival, my friend," the dwarf said happily, "I'm much obliged!"

"It was no problem," Logan replied, "You're welcome." He flashed a brief smile at the dwarf before the younger one—perhaps his son—shuffled his feet and stumbled forward, waving at all of them.

"The name's Bodhan Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur!" Bodhan bowed as he introduced himself. He gestured to the younger dwarf beside him, who still had a wide grin plastered on his face. "This here's my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy."

Sandal seemed to turn red as he waved meekly this time. "Hello," he said simply.

"Road's been mighty dangerous these days," Bodhan said sagely, as he walked over to pick up his fallen goods to place them back on his cart, "Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going to same way."

Logan scratched the back of his head. "It's a bit complicated, but you're welcome to come along if you like," he offered. Bodhan burst into laughter as he shook his head, brushing off the minor warning.

"Complicated?" he said cheerily, "Something tells me that's just half of what your story is, stranger." Sandal began to heave crates back into the cart as Bodhan handed it to him, his eyes still fixed curiously on Logan and his company. "But thank you for offering me and my son a place with you! You're quite an interesting lot, to say the least."

"Just mind yourselves," Logan smiled kindly at them, "You're welcome to stay for as long as you like."

"Well then, that's settled!" Bodhan said contentedly, "I'll be right behind you—lead the way, good sir!"

"Call me Logan," the Warden said, as he led them along the Imperial Highway, en route to setting up their second camp. He checked his map as Alistair walked up beside him, with the rest following behind. He could hear the faint creaking of Bodhan's cart as they walked on in silence.

"We'll be heading to Redcliffe first then?" Alistair asked, peering at the map and spotting the course Logan had plotted for them. The first stop was Redcliffe, followed by the Circle Tower, then the camp of the Dalish elves and lastly Orzammar.

"Yes, it seems like the easiest for now," Logan told him, "Unless some complications arise, in which case we should just deal with it swiftly."

Alistair grinned. "I'm sure Eamon would be more than happy to oblige," he reassured Logan.

The mage smirked. "You would know, right?" he said teasingly, "Considering the fact that Arl Eamon raised you when you were younger."

"Raised me? You must be mistaken," Alistair blinked, apparently confused, "He didn't raise me…"

"That right?" Logan glanced at his friend, chuckling, "That's not what I heard you telling Flemeth."

"No, no!" Alistair countered easily, though Logan could see right through his fellow Grey Warden, "I said I was raised by dogs—giant, slobbering dogs, mind you. You—you must have heard me say something else. I didn't say Arl Eamon… Maker…"

"Ah, that should explain the breath then," Logan said coolly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Alistair seemed to pick up on it and played along, much to Logan's dismay. "Yes," Alistair agreed, grinning, "And not to mention the rude table manners and all—I'm really just being honest here—and sometimes I drool… you know?"

"I would not be surprised," came Morrigan's voice, thick with disgust.

"You're not actually very surprised at anything in particular, Morrigan," Alistair replied, glancing back at the witch, "I wonder why."

"Cynicism isn't all that bad," Logan defended, although from the way she was glaring at him he suspected that it had been the wrong thing to say. "Not that… I think you're cynical _all _the time—"

Alistair snorted. He pretended not to notice the steep drop in Logan's intelligence as Morrigan scowled in annoyance. "You would be wise to stop speaking," Morrigan warned Logan, who merely smiled at her and turned back to face the direction that they were walking in—much to her relief, for she had almost felt another foolish smile creep upon her when Logan became flustered. There were things she would love to do to the Warden, but this was neither the place nor the time. If she had a little more time to get closer to him, then perhaps—

"You're very beautiful, Morrigan," Leliana suddenly said, appearing by the witch's side.

"I'm not sure I asked for your opinion," Morrigan said coldly, "Tell me something I do not know."

"I mean it," Leliana said, "If you were in Orlais with me, I could take you shopping for clothes that would make you even more beautiful than you are now." The redhead smiled sweetly at Morrigan, who merely glanced in her direction uninterestedly. "They're much better than the rags you choose to dress in. It suits you I suppose—a little tear here, a little rip there to show some skin. I understand."

Logan tried not to glance back at the two women as he discreetly slowed in his pace, intent on listening in. Alistair shook his head and took the lead, amused.

"You understand I lived in a forest, I hope?" Morrigan reminded Leliana irritably, but not before casting a quick glance at her 'rags'. They were hardly so, Morrigan thought. They were perfectly fine!

Leliana gazed at Morrigan, smiling sweetly as she continued, "Maybe we could get you a nice dress one day. Silk—no, maybe velvet! Velvet is heavier, better to guard against the cold in Ferelden. Dark red velvet, yes," Leliana seemed to be undressing and dressing Morrigan in her mind as she went on almost dreamily—Logan wasn't sure whether she was interested in the clothes she had in mind for Morrigan or the witch herself, "With gold embroidery. It should also be cut low in the front, of course. We wouldn't want to hide your features!"

"Stop looking at my breasts!" Morrigan sighed in exasperation, "'Tis most disturbing."

Leliana giggled. "You don't think so?" she asked curiously, "And if it's cut low in the front we must put up your hair to show off that lovely neck!"

"You are insane," Morrigan said, shaking her head, "I would sooner let Alistair dress me."

"_Really_?" came a voice from the front. Logan suppressed a grin to know that Alistair had been listening in as well. "I'll take your word for it then, Morrigan. I'll even teach you the Remigold as a bonus."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "I take that back," she said darkly.

Leliana seemed to be unaffected by Morrigan's constant refusal as she went on and on. "It'll be fun, I promise! We'll get some shoes too! Ah, shoes!" She clapped her hands together as her mind drifted off, perhaps already planning out an entirely new wardrobe for Morrigan.

If this was the group he was sticking with for the rest of his days until the end of the Blight, Logan though amusedly, then it probably wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.


	9. The King's Son

**A/N: **Hi everyone! Thank you for your reviews and staying with this story. Just to clarify a few things—I'm definitely not leaving Leliana alone when it comes to romance, but I won't reveal the name of her lover just yet. In fact, I'm going to make it as sweet as it can be for her, seeing as how you all probably know her story from before the events of Dragon Age: Origins. There also might be a little drama here and there, a whole bout of jealousy perhaps, but that's all I can say for now. I have drafted out a lot of possible romances/storylines for almost every character, so don't worry.

IX: The King's Son

The sun was already setting by the time camp was set up—the sun had turned into an auburn sphere, slowly sinking in the far horizon as Logan stood to watch it silently. He had never watched a sunset out in the open before—not since a few nights ago—because of his life in the Circle. Now, he was free to admire the scenery and breathe in the fresh air, but he couldn't feel the sense of contentment and satisfaction of freedom. Admittedly, being able to travel out in the open was exhilarating sometimes, but there were constant reminders that he was going to fight an archdemon and stop the Blight for the sake of Ferelden and Thedas.

He cringed as he thought about the road ahead and wondered if Alistair, Garrett or Bethany felt the same. He cast a glance at his companions, to see that they were all getting along well. It puzzled him to see that there were no traces of unhappiness in their faces—especially Leliana and Garrett—because he had expected them to, and immediately felt a strange sense of embarrassment wash over him. Here he was, sulking over the Blight and fearing defeat, while the others remained calm and kept up their optimism to carry each other through. _Some leader you are, _Logan thought to himself bitterly.

Logan turned back to face the orange sun as a breeze swept through camp. There was no danger here—he would be able to sense if there were darkspawn now that he was a Warden—and Logan secretly wished that time would stop so that he could let go of his fears for once. All he could do now was to hope that Arl Eamon would quickly agree to helping the Grey Wardens against the Blight so that they could move on to the other potential allies.

He could suddenly hear footsteps amidst his wandering thoughts, and realized that someone was approaching him. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" Alistair asked, appearing by his side with a stoic expression, "I need to tell you something—I, um, should probably have told you earlier."

"Go ahead," Logan nodded, turning his attention on his friend.

"I wasn't raised by dogs," Alistair said, so seriously that Logan nearly laughed, "But you already knew that, I gather? I said that Arl Eamon raised me and that my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in… that is true, but I should tell you the reason why." Alistair fiddled with his steel gloves for a bit, as though contemplating whether he should go ahead with it or not. He swallowed hard and looked up at Logan with a sort of apprehensive look on his face. "The reason he did that was because… well… because my father was King Maric."

Logan raised his eyebrows and felt his jaw drop slightly. "King Maric?" he repeated in disbelief, "The King that ruled Ferelden? The King that was Cailan's father?"

"Well," Alistair said, grinning slightly, "Yes. That made Cailan my brother—half-brother, actually."

"So," Logan scratched his cheek lightly, grinning slightly, "That means you're not just a bastard but a… _royal _bastard?"

"Ha!" Alistair laughed, a sheepish expression crossing his face, "I guess it does at that. I should use that line more often, you know. It sounds better than just 'bastard', I suppose." His expression suddenly became serious again as his laughter died down. "Look, I would have told you, I swear. It just… never really meant anything to me, you know? I was—I was inconvenient and a possible threat to Cailan's rule so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or coddled me," he went on with slight disgust in his tone, "Even Duncan—Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know as long as possible." Alistair sighed. "I'm sorry, Logan."

Logan smiled warmly at Alistair and patted him on the back. "I understand," Logan said reassuringly, "No harm done, Alistair."

The Grey Warden heaved a sigh of relief. "Good," he said, laughing slightly, "I'm glad! It's not like I got special treatment for it anyhow. At any rate, that's it—that's what I had to tell you, I guess. I thought you should know about it."

"You sure you're not hiding anything else, then?" Logan teased.

"Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. Just the prince thing," Alistair said. "Other than these aspects of me, I think you'll find me to be a very boring person."

"Alright then," Logan said, before adding for good measure, "Your Highness."

Alistair groaned despite his lips stretching into a wide, bashful grin. "I shouldn't have told you that," he said, "Now you're never going to let it go." He looked at Logan carefully. "Are you?"

"Never," Logan chuckled. "In fact, I'll break the news to the rest of the camp later on during dinner."

"Peachy," Alistair said sarcastically, "I was hoping someone might tell them for me. This is as awkward as it is. Just don't make fun of me in front of Arl Eamon or anyone else, please. And one more thing," Alistair paused for a while, slightly hesitant, "Let me tell Bethany personally."

Logan smiled and immediately understood. He always did notice the Grey Warden looking in the direction of his younger cousin—and he could not blame him, for Bethany was a beautiful woman, very much like her mother before her—with a sort of a mesmerized expression on his face, laced with a foolish little grin. "You like her, don't you?"

Alistair reddened immediately. "I—no—I mean, yes, but I'm not—" he sighed with a rather uncomfortable and constipated look, "I'm not good at this."

"If it makes you feel better, I think she likes you too," Logan said—which was partly true, as he recalled how much he noticed that the younger Hawke enjoyed Alistair's company though the latter did not notice, "But you'll have to get into Garrett's good books if you want a peaceful, uninterrupted relationship with her—"

"But I'm not sure if I'm ready—" Alistair stood up, beginning to sound flustered.

"Alistair, just how oldare you—" Logan raised his eyebrows and marveled at the man's shyness. For a prince, he didn't seem very princely and confident—then again, when has he ever been?

"But I've never actually done this before—" The Grey Warden buried his face in his hands and let out a strangled groan, feeling his cheeks flush.

"Maker's breath, Alistair—"

"Alright, alright," Alistair relented, raising his hands in surrender, "I'll be a man about it and tell her myself. Just don't listen in, okay? And make sure Garrett's somewhere else while I'm doing that, it—it's going to be a bit awkward."

"I don't need any fortune-telling to know that," Logan mocked Alistair, chuckling as the Grey Warden glared at him, turning even redder. "Look, just be yourself. It'll be okay."

Alistair mumbled something incoherent under his breath, frowning, before looking at Logan again with a mischievous look in his eyes. "Heeey," he drawled, grinning slyly at Logan, "What about you and _Morrigan_, hm?"

Logan tensed immediately as he glanced quickly behind them, making sure that no one else was within earshot. "What about her?" he hissed, rolling his eyes. Logan tried to appear disinterested and nonchalant, but the look on Alistair's face told him otherwise—that he wasn't very good at subtlety. "There's nothing going on between us and you know it, Alistair."

"But you _like _her," Alistair nudged Logan in the ribs, "And Garrett has been theorizing that she likes you too—"

"You people actually talk about us?" Logan asked, "Gee, Alistair. I thought we had a Blight and an archdemon on our hands—or was that actually all a dream?"

"We're not gossips!" Alistair said defensively, "We just happened to find an interesting topic—"

"I will punch you in the face," Logan growled.

Alistair laughed nervously. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, Morrigan would probably do the same, except with the sharp end of her staff," Alistair grinned at Logan, "But honestly, you should see the looks she gives you—oh, wait. You can't."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Not if I have eyes on the back of my head."

"Do you?"

"You're really asking me that?" The mage looked disgruntled, but he could feel his heart racing and pounding furiously in his chest. It was both shocking and exhilarating at the same time, and Logan was sure that he was turning red as he felt the heat reach his face. Alistair laughed and walked off, leaving Logan to his own thoughts again. Logan glanced at Morrigan from afar, who had set up camp a distance away from the main group. He wondered if what Alistair said was true as he watched her arrange her own belongings neatly—if she had been looking at him when he wasn't looking at her.

A grin crept upon his face as he looked elsewhere when he caught Alistair looking at him with a knowing smile.

* * *

><p>Dinner was a terrible affair.<p>

Logan noticed that Garrett looked livid when Alistair had announced that he helped Bethany to make dinner—little wonder, really. Bethany looked rather amused despite the extra-cheesy stew that everyone was consuming with much difficulty. Leliana looked rather mortified but, out of courtesy, did her best to finish her share of the stew. Sten looked uninterested and unaffected by the taste as he downed it—Logan had an odd feeling that Sten was used to odd tastes in Ferelden.

Morrigan had, as though on instinct at the very mention of Alistair's name, refused and resorted to making her own meal—something Logan suspected would be much better than what he was eating right now. Alas, Alistair was still his friend, so Logan kept quiet and forced himself to eat, thinking more of his stomach than his taste buds. The only one that didn't remain silent was Garrett, who was now waving his father's staff wildly at Alistair.

"Which lunatic would put that much cheese?" Garrett bellowed, accidentally tipping over his own bowl of yellow goo with random pieces of meat in it, "Are you _trying _to kill some of us here?"

Alistair grinned when he noticed that Bethany was giggling. "You'll have to live with it," Alistair said simply, casting a glance at Bethany, "If Bethany lets me help more often, of course."

"I'll have to think of the others first," Bethany said coyly, "But if you have to help, you'll just have to listen to me. No more suggestions from you, for the sake of all of us."

Logan chuckled into his bowl as Garrett returned to his spot and muttered something inaudible as he huddled by the fire next to him. "I swear, I'll kill him one day if the Blight doesn't," Garrett told his cousin darkly, "I don't understand why my sister likes him."

"Well, I like him too," Logan said, grinning, "I think he's a good man, if a bit eccentric."

"Eccentric," Garrett repeated grimly, as he picked up a long branch to poke at the logs of the campfire, "More like completely insane and out of it. Do you think he likes Bethany? He's been ogling her a lot—"

"He wasn't _ogling _Bethany—"

"I'm pretty sure—"

"Garrett," Logan protested gently, nudging his cousin, "Give him a chance."

Garrett shook his head. "He's a bumbling idiot, and that's the only thing I'm giving him," he muttered gruffly, clearly adamant in his decision. "Look, I can't trust him with my sister. Would you trust him with _your _sister, if you had one? If you were me—would you trust him to take care of your sister and not poison her to death with an overdose of cheese?"

Logan sighed. "Just… observe him," Logan said, "He's not that bad, I promise."

"Fine," Garrett said, rolling his eyes, "But the minute he dips even a slice of cheese in that pot—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Logan said, laughing, and rose to leave the campfire.

Half an hour later, Leliana offered to clean up for the group. Garrett instinctively went forward to help her, much to the former lay sister's delight. They spent a few minutes collecting all the bowls and the pot before leaving camp to find a nearby stream. Garrett could not help but wonder how such an attractive woman could end up becoming a sister in the Chantry, and was sure that she wasn't like this her entire life.

Leliana noticed his soft gaze on her and glanced sideways at him, smiling. "What are you looking at?"

Garrett nearly dropped the pot—filled with the familiar, irksome stench that Alistair had so brilliantly concocted—and chuckled nervously. "It's nothing," he said, "I'm just wondering why someone like you would be in the cloister."

"What is meant by someone like me?" Leliana asked, turning a light shade of pink. She was thankful that she turned away at that moment, so that the mage would not see her face. She continued washing the bowls as he spoke again.

"I mean," Garrett said, turning back to his own task as well, "You're so beautiful and… _skilled_. Surely you didn't learn all your fighting from the chantry."

"You flatter me. There are far more beautiful sisters in the chantry than I," Leliana smiled appreciatively at him, "And you're right. I did learn my skills elsewhere before coming to the chantry in Ferelden."

"Why did you choose to become a sister?" Garrett asked.

Leliana seemed to recount this with a sort of wistful look in her eyes. "I had to," she told him, "Back in Orlais, things were getting complicated for me. I was—" She stopped mid-sentence, looking rather hurt at a certain recollection which Garrett immediately noticed.

"It's alright," Garrett said kindly, "You don't have to if it hurts you."

"Thank you," the former lay sister said quietly, "I just don't think I'm quite ready to go back to that yet."

"Oh, I understand," Garrett said, nodding, "Truly, I do. It took me a while before I could talk about my father properly without wanting to cry and kick and scream." Leliana noticed that the mage had closed his eyes momentarily, as though fighting back the tears he thought he had conquered. "I was just a boy, then. I couldn't deal with the fact that he was gone. The only man in my life I could truly model myself after, and hopefully become someone Carver could want to be as well. But look at me—I crack jokes and offend people all the time. My father would be so disappointed." His voice cracked with strain as his knuckles began to turn white from his stranglehold on the pot he was holding.

Leliana felt a fleeting urge to hold him. "I'm so sorry," she said sadly, "I don't know what else to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Garrett smiled at her, "But I appreciate it."

"I can always listen, yes?" Leliana's blue eyes turned to meet Garrett's. "I'm here for you—since we're battling the Blight and all, we might as well get comfortable."

She reminded him of an angel the more he looked at her. Garrett didn't quite know what to think of her—what, with her stunning beauty and her deathly fighting skills; it was rather hard to figure out who she was. A part of him liked wondering about her, like she was a thrilling mystery, and another part wanted to know exactly who she was. He knew she was Orlesian, but that was as far as she had revealed to them.

Well, other than that vision she claimed to have had.

"So, about your vision," Garrett started again, looking at her, "I heard from Logan that you said you dreamt of the Blight?"

Leliana looked taken aback and visibly uncomfortable, but answered him nonetheless, "I did. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear to you that it is real and is from the Maker. I am certain of this, I am. Besides, I think probably would have chosen to help even if I never had this vision in the first place."

"I suppose you're right," Garrett said.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Leliana asked.

Garrett smiled. "No," he told her, "I believe in you. Well, as far as my faith in the Maker will take me."

"I really hope you're not just saying that."

"I wouldn't dare, not after I saw the way you fought those darkspawn. You might as well be a Grey Warden!"

Her giggle sounded like music to his ears. "I _really _hope you don't mean that. Being a Grey Warden sounds far too scary for me."

* * *

><p>"Bethany, can I talk to you for a moment?" Alistair asked as he approached the mage. He had made sure that everyone else was occupied with something else before he decided that the time was right.<p>

Bethany stood up and smiled warmly at him. "Sure. What is it, Alistair?"

"I have something to tell you," Alistair said, so nervous that he began to break out in cold sweat, "I, uh, think you should know something about who I am—something I should have told you since the start."

Bethany gasped. "Alistair, are you saying that…" Her voice trailed off as her cheeks turned crimson, which led Alistair to wonder what she was thinking exactly.

"I'm… what?" asked Alistair, looking rather confused and bewildered. "What—what am I saying?"

"Are you… ga—"

"_Maker, no_!" Alistair stopped her before she could even finish her sentence, looking flustered and turning red as well, "Nothing like that, I promise! Oh, Maker's breath, that was sufficiently awkward. No, no, I'm not…"

Bethany looked away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she said, "That—I mean—"

She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously as silence fell upon them, finally feeling the heat drain away from her neck and face. She felt the former templar move closer to her and offer his hand to her, as though inviting her to trust him. Willingly, she reached out and held onto his hand and he pulled her aside gently, his brown eyes constantly fixed on hers. They stopped a distance away from Bodhan and Sandal, who were already preparing to sleep.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Well, I'm… my father is, well, uh, a dead king," Alistair began, looking away for a moment to regain his composure, "And that king is… King Maric, Cailan's father. Which essentially makes Cailan my… half-brother," Alistair paused for a moment, before adding as an afterthought, "My _dead _half-brother. Which then makes me the heir."

He glanced at Bethany, whose lips had only parted slightly in mild confusion. "You're King Maric's son?" she breathed, blinking, "I—Alistair… why didn't you tell us?"

"I already told Logan," Alistair explained, "I didn't want anyone to coddle me or hate me."

Her hand found his again in the darkness. "I'd never hate you," she told him, "And just because you're a prince doesn't mean we'll go easy on you, you know? We're Grey Wardens—and you're one of us. This prince thing… well… shall we cross that bridge when we get to it?"

Alistair smiled. "Only if I get to burn it."

"You shouldn't be afraid of this," Bethany told him seriously, "If others knew, they might start considering you to be the next king…"

"Maker, that's what I'm afraid of," Alistair mumbled, "I swear I've had more nightmares about being king than the Blight and the archdemon. I'm just not used to responsibility—especially after Duncan's death. What more ruling an entire country? I could never be a good king… not like Cailan _or _Maric himself. It's just not in me."

"But the Theirin blood is in you," Bethany said, "It always has been. You just probably don't feel it yet, but I know that if you're ever going to be a king one day, you'll make a good one. And I'm not just saying that to make you feel better. I believe in you."

"You do?" Alistair stuttered, "I mean—not that I don't appreciate it—I don't and no one's ever said that to me and—and—"

Bethany giggled. "Well, get used to it! We're in this together."

Alistair chuckled lightly and nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. "Yes, yes we are, I suppose. Together," he said, inwardly thankful that Bethany could not see the foolish smile that was on his face.

* * *

><p>For the entire night, a part of him had been focused on Morrigan. It didn't help that he knew she was alone on the far side of the camp—it merely gave him one more reason to walk over to where she was sitting alone. She noticed him as he approached and made no movement to welcome him and went on cleaning her own staff, silently regarding the handsome Warden from the corners of her eyes.<p>

"Can I sit?"

Morrigan sighed. "If you must," she answered flatly, appearing to have no interest in him at all. Inwardly, she felt immense relief that he could not hear her accelerating heartbeat—what, with the way he was looking at her with those curious, beautiful blue eyes, she was almost certain no one could resist a glance or two—and kept herself busy with her staff, all the while feeling his gaze upon her.

"You don't like the rest?" he asked, his voice thick with concern and worry. "They're not all that bad—look, Sten's the quietest, so I think you wouldn't have a problem with him," Logan went on as he motioned towards the Qunari standing vigilant in the moonlight, his face perhaps better off made from stone, "And Leliana seems to really like you, you know? Garrett and Bethany don't have much of a problem with you either and Alistair—" Logan paused and chuckled as he thought about his fellow Grey Warden, "Alistair likes you too, even if he won't admit it because he's never had anyone around him who didn't take his jokes well. I think there's a certain balance about it he appreciates silently…"

While he looked elsewhere and his cerulean orbs were no longer fixed on her, Morrigan glanced at him. It surprised her how endearing he had started to become in her eyes—more often than not, she looked down on the rest of the human race, detesting their sickening behaviors and mannerisms, so she felt taken aback when she found herself looking upon Logan Amell in a different light.

Then, just as quickly as that rare, terrifying affection had come, it disappeared as though on instinct when Logan turned back to face her. "If I had to appreciate one person in this camp, it would be the Qunari," Morrigan said, regaining her composure as she avoided Logan's gaze, "As you said, 'tis a good thing he is as stoic as a boulder. But I doubt you are here to talk about how exceptionally wonderful those people are."

"And what did you think I was here to do?" Logan asked curiously, hugging his knees and resting his head upon them, his expression almost like that of a child, looking up at his mother with a sort of wonder in his eyes.

"Do men not make decisions based on their innermost _earthly _desires?" Morrigan looked up at him quickly before returning her concentration to her staff, his crooked smile making thinking difficult for her. She cursed him for possessing such fine features and desperately wished for him to go away. And yet, she realized soon after, she had been wishing for him to stay as well.

Logan shook his head. "Not all men are like that," Logan told her, "You assume we are beasts without restraint and better sense?"

"Most," she said curtly. Logan swore he saw her smile for a split second, unsure of whether he was seeing things or not.

"That's what you truly think, then?" His tone was amused, rather than offended which she had expected.

"In this case, no, I do not need to think," Morrigan said, "'Tis what I know!"

"Then you still have much to learn," Logan said, "I wonder why you would assume that of most of the men in all of Thedas."

"Many men have desired me," Morrigan explained, smiling coyly at him as though to stir the feelings she knew he had for her, "And even before me, more have desired my mother, Flemeth."

Logan felt his mouth become dry as he looked into her eyes—a pleasure he suspected she was keeping from him, because she knew how it would affect him and turn him into a stuttering fool—and could not tear away. He studied her eyes carefully, as though he was trying to find something deeper in her golden orbs, and often found himself getting lost in them rather than understanding the witch in front of him.

Morrigan felt the sudden urge to just take over him and set loose his desires and show him how she was right and he was not, even though, frustratingly enough, she could not see an ounce of lust in his eyes. It was almost maddening as she looked away from him and wondered how such a man could even exist. Was he even a man?

"Your mother, Flemeth," Logan asked, "Was she as beautiful as you?"

"I once recalled her being younger once," Morrigan said, a distant look in her eyes as she started to remember, "I suppose she must have been, being my mother. Do daughters grow up to look just like their mothers? 'Tis something I believe."

"I can't imagine," Logan grinned, "Is Flemeth really what she appears to be?"

"That depends on what you think she is," Morrigan said, a small but sly smile appearing. "What do you think she is?"

Logan chuckled. "A nutty old bat."

Morrigan nearly lost it right there as she laughed. It startled Logan to see her laugh—yet he could not stop the sweet sound from ringing in his ears like music—and at the same time, it pleased him. He had never seen her like that before, and he wanted more of it. Her smile was beautiful, especially when it made her eyes twinkle with a few tears of laughter. Logan felt his heart lift and laughed as she tried to regain her composure and glared at him—he knew she didn't mean it then.

"I suppose she is," Morrigan said, softening visibly as Logan tried to stifle his laughter and covered his mouth with his hand.

"So you really grew up in the Wilds all your life?"

"Why do you ask me such questions?" Morrigan snapped, glaring at him, "I do not probe you for pointless information, do I?"

Logan smirked. "You can probe me anytime."

Morrigan chose to look past the irony in that statement despite the heat rushing up to her face and continued nonetheless, "What is it you asked? If I 'grew up' in the Wilds? A curious question," Morrigan tilted her head and studied Logan, "Where else would you picture me? For many years it was simply Flemeth and I. The Wilds and its creatures were more real to me than Flemeth's tales of the world of man. In time, I grew curious. I left the Wilds to explore what lay beyond. Never for long. Brief forays into a civilized wilderness."

"So you remained unnoticed?"

"For the most part. Flemeth had taught me much."

"And did you like it there, then?" Logan asked, his attention fully on her like a diligent student to his teacher. Morrigan found that both amusing and annoying.

"No," Morrigan shook her head, "It was not what I had expected. For all that I had been taught, the truth of the civilized lands proved to be… overwhelming. I was unfamiliar with so much—so confident and bold was I, yet there was much that Flemeth could never have prepared me for."

Logan remained silent and listened intently, never knowing how much it was unnerving the witch.

"Once, I was accused of being a Witch of the Wilds, and that by a Chasind who happened to be traveling with a merchant caravan," Morrigan recalled, "He pointed and gasped and began shouting in his strange language, and most assumed he was casting some curse upon me. I acted the terrified girl, and naturally he was arrested."

"That was quick thinking," Logan smiled briefly at her before letting her continue.

Morrigan laughed mirthlessly. "Men are always willing to believe two things about a woman: one, that she was weak and two, that she finds him attractive."

"Hey!" Logan sat upright, unsure of whether she was taking a dig at him or not. "If that's not sexism, I don't know what is."

"To each his own," Morrigan said, "I merely played the weakling and batted my eyelashes at the captain of the guard. Child's play." Logan couldn't help but visualize a younger Morrigan being as coy as she was right now—he couldn't even imagine anyone refusing her, even if it was all just a disguise—and wasn't quite sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"The point is that I was able to move through human lands fairly easily. Whatever humans think a Witch of the Wilds looks like, 'tis not I."

Morrigan shifted in her position and made herself a little more comfortable as she put away her staff. "I _did _have a bit of trouble, however. There are things about human society which have always puzzled me, such as the touching—why all the touching for a simple greeting?"

Logan lifted an eyebrow. It was clear that Morrigan had indeed lived most of her life in the Wilds, but he didn't expect it to have such an effect on her and her social behavior. Somehow, he pitied her and somehow, he found the image of Morrigan snapping at the slightest physical contact rather adorable—but he wasn't going to tell her that unless he had a death wish.

"I—were you upset by all the touching?" Logan asked, "I mean, like a handshake?"

"To begin with, yes. What is the point of touching my hand? I find it an offensive intrusion," Morrigan said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"That is…" Logan's voice trailed off as he tried to find the appropriate words to finish his sentence, feeling Morrigan's stare heating up as though she was expecting an unpleasant description, "…a rather interesting perspective of things, I think."

Morrigan scoffed loudly at that. "If you were in my shoes, you would understand," Morrigan said, "There were many nuances that Flemeth could never tell me of. When to look into another's eyes, how to eat at a table, how to bargain without offending… none of these things I know."

Logan smiled. "Well, I could teach you—"

"Don't even think about it," Morrigan glared at him, "I will not subject myself to more lessons on useless things."

"They're not useless—"

"'Tis something I regard as useless," Morrigan cut him off again, sighing. "I am not like you, nor you I. We are both two different people, as you can already tell."

"Well I'm glad it worked out this way, then," Logan said, deciding that it was getting late. How long he had been listening to her, he did not know. He just knew that he enjoyed listening to her. He only realized that sleep was necessary when he noticed that everyone had returned to their tents, save for Alistair who had decided to be the first one to keep watch in case any darkspawn stragglers decided to ambush them.

Morrigan chuckled. "Oh? Let's ignore the entire darkspawn threat and the presence of a simpleton as our watch for this hour, then."

"Good night, Morrigan," Logan laughed as he stood up and dusted himself, careful not to dust anything onto Morrigan, "Sleep well."


	10. They're Not Darkspawn

**A/N: **Just a heads up to you guys: just because I've paired them up nicely now doesn't mean the characters will be with each other until the very end. My characters lead the story more than I do most of the time.

X: They're Not Darkspawn

They awoke early in the morning before the sun rose and quickly packed up, so that they would be able to reach Redcliffe sooner. Garrett and Bethany had had their first nightmares about the archdemon and the Blight, and were the first ones to wake up. The older Hawke woke his cousin up by poking the blade that was attached to his staff in the side of his ribs lightly, much to Logan's dismay and annoyance, and watched in amusement as Logan sat bolt upright, wincing in pain. The rest of the morning was spent quickly as the rest woke up—Logan suspected that Sten did not sleep at all—and packed up and prepared to finish the last leg to Redcliffe.

The air was cooler in the morning than it had been at night, Logan noticed as he slung his pack lazily over his shoulder and strapped his staff on his back. He was almost tempted to delay the group for a while longer so that he could enjoy a moment of peace for a moment longer, but he quickly reminded himself that the darkspawn knew nothing of waiting as they prepared to ravage the land with their leader.

They left the old campsite along with Bodhan and Sandal and continued traveling. It wasn't long before they finally saw, in the distance, the village of Redcliffe and the Arl's castle standing tall and proud in the distance. It reminded Logan of the old Amell estate in Kirkwall—they had, of course, been one of the wealthiest families in the Free Marches despite having magic in their bloodline—and it caused him to miss his old home. He wondered how Leandra and Carver were at this moment, and whether they arrived at Kirkwall already. Along the way, Logan had caught wind from a few stragglers traveling away from Redcliffe that Fereldans were slowly becoming refugees by escaping to the Free Marches when they heard of the Blight. It made him worry, because he knew that sooner or later the Free Marches would be overcrowded with Fereldans and if Leandra and Carver were not quick enough in their travel—which he hoped they were, considering they had a head start—he was afraid that they would not be able to enter Kirkwall and return to the Amell estate.

He knew he had an Uncle Gamlen Amell—his mother's cousin—but Garrett, from the stories his mother told him about his maternal side of the family, had always told Logan about Gamlen's unhealthy obsession with loaning money from his "friends in low places". It troubled him even more now, knowing that he was probably the only one left in charge of the Amell estate, unless Leandra's parents were still alive, in which case Logan knew they would be able to control Gamlen properly and take care of Leandra and Carver.

It was times like these that Logan desperately wished that his mother was still around as the head of the Amell family, especially after his father had left her. Logan resented his faceless and nameless father—Revka had never told him about the man that he had always wished to see and know—for leaving his mother and him. Sometimes, in the darkness of the night, Logan would lay awake and think about his own family—something he never took to doing frequently to avoid the pain—and wonder in anger why his father would choose to leave his mother. He had always asked his mother, but she wouldn't tell him. She had always told him that it was something he didn't need to know, and it only led Logan to assume that his father broke her heart so much that she never wanted to talk about it ever again.

He wasn't sure if he was ever going to find out the truth, but this was as good as any kind of explanation for him—for now.

Just a few steps away from a bridge over a small stream just on the outskirts of Redcliffe, a man came rushing forward, panting heavily and looking deathly pale. Logan thought he was sick at first, but soon realized it had been a kind of trauma that had caused his sickly expression to form as the color returned to the man's face as he stopped to take huge breaths.

"You… are you here to help us?" he breathed, looking up at Logan.

Logan's eyes flicked over to the man's bow and quiver, and immediately sensed that something else was going on in Redcliffe—something the rest of Ferelden didn't know about. "Help you?" he repeated, "What's going on in Redcliffe? Did something happen to the Arl?"

"You didn't hear?" asked the man, his tone growing frantic, "Did no one out there tell you?"

On hindsight, Logan suddenly began to recall encountering frightened looking travelers with their caravans—the ones who had told him about the Fereldan refugee situation in Kirkwall—and realized that they had been running away from Redcliffe.

"What happened?" Alistair asked, looking worried, "Tell me, man!"

"There is something in the castle," the man explained, his voice shaking as he recalled unspoken memories in his head that had obviously traumatized him. "Something evil. It's been attacking the village for several nights now. I thought you were here to help us and the Arl."

"The Arl, where is he?" Logan questioned, frowning.

"In the castle," the man told him, his voice cracking, "We haven't heard anything from the castle ever since those _things _came down to attack us! You—you need to see Bann Teagan. He will explain everything to you."

"Then take us to him," Logan said, "We'll help you."

The villager quickly led them down a steep path beyond the bridge. Already, Logan could see villagers arming themselves and preparing for what seemed to be another imminent battle. Men were practicing their archery just outside the chantry and Logan could see others a distance away, sparring with their swords and shields diligently without faltering in their steps. As they got closer, and past the archers, Logan noticed that their swords and equipments were all rather worn, with their chainmail and body armor decorated with scars and deep scratches that could only be made by other swords. He was beginning to wonder whether there were darkspawn lurking about Redcliffe, being the ones responsible for this mess.

And yet, Logan couldn't sense the taint at all. He cast a glance at Alistair and his cousins, but none of them seemed to sense anything out of the ordinary at all either. If there were darkspawn present in Redcliffe, surely one of them would have spoken up by now.

The chantry was filled with younger villagers and women—the ones that were not fighting against this unknown force. Leliana gasped sharply behind him as she saw the fear in all of the villagers' eyes, and he would have done the same had someone else taken his place as a leader. He would have to keep a straight face and remain calm, but he wasn't sure whether he could keep himself from a cool exterior the more he witnessed how Redcliffe was suffering.

The archer that had met them outside led them to the man that Logan supposed was Bann Teagan. His cesious eyes were fixed on Logan almost warily at first, but then his suspicions seemed to slowly fade away when he looked at Alistair.

"Is that…?" Teagan muttered, stepping forward, "Alistair?"

"Teagan," Alistair acknowledged, looking rather awkward, "I didn't think we'd have to meet in the middle of _two _problems now."

"Yes, I almost forgot you were the only one left dealing with the Blight," Teagan agreed. He looked to Logan and the rest of his companions. "These are…?"

"Um—" Alistair gestured to Logan, Garrett and Bethany, "—these are the other three Grey Wardens that were recruited just before Ostagar. So, I'm not exactly the only one left and I'm pretty relieved about that. Anyway, this here's Logan, Garrett and Bethany. And that's Morrigan, Sten and Leliana over there."

Teagan nodded towards Logan and the rest behind him. "Maker bless your souls for stepping up against the Blight. I was beginning to get worried after what I heard about Ostagar and the rumors of all the Grey Wardens dying with Cailan," Teagan said grimly, crossing his arms over his chest, "Tell me: did Loghain withdraw from the field or did the Wardens—"

"Teagan!" Alistair cut in suddenly, almost agitatedly, "I can't believe you'd believe those rumors! You knew Duncan, didn't you?"

"I know," Teagan said regretfully, "I just wanted to make sure. With all this madness and with Loghain taking charge of Denerim with his daughter Anora, I'm not sure I know what to believe anymore."

Alistair sighed. "I understand," he said, "So what's the situation? Is it darkspawn?"

"I'm afraid not," Teagan began, "This is likely the work of a blood mage. I am not sure yet, but I know that whatever we have been facing for the past few nights were not darkspawn. They were of the Fade; I know this to be true."

"A blood mage?" repeated Logan, furrowing his brows, "How did this happen?"

"You would allow someone to get so close to your Arl?" Morrigan narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at Teagan sternly, "'Tis almost surprising that this had to happen—I would expect better from the nobility in Ferelden."

Teagan made to retort angrily, but decided on better judgment that this was not the time. He focused on Logan and Alistair again. "I'm not sure myself," Teagan admitted, "They just came out of the castle one night and nearly killed more than twenty good men and women. We haven't tried entering the castle yet because it's too dangerous, but we're planning to change that tonight. It's good that you came at this time—we could use a few more fighters."

"Will we be able to get into the castle if we help you tonight? We need to speak with Arl Eamon as soon as possible," Logan said. "And fix whatever's in there, as well."

"Yes," Teagan nodded, "You just need to speak with Murdock, the village chief outside. He's in charge of the preparations for tonight's battle. But before you find him, there are two people I would like you to meet." He motioned for them to follow him as he led them into a small library area in the chantry. Two people—a boy and a girl, probably no older than eighteen—were sitting together at the far end of the room, deep in conversation about something when they heard their loud footsteps and stood up to face them.

"Sirius, Alexandra," Teagan gestured towards Logan and the rest and proceeded to make quick introductions, "They will be entering the castle tonight. I'm assuming you two are still interested?"

"Of course we are," said the blue-eyed boy determinedly.

"Saving the Arl is important to us," added the girl beside him, their faces strangely similar to each other's.

"Well then, these are the people you'll be sticking with," Teagan said, as he turned back to Logan, "These two are Sirius and Alexandra Cousland, the younger twin children of Teryn Cousland of Highever."

"The Couslands?" muttered Alistair, glancing at them, "What are they doing here in Redcliffe?"

"That's not important right now," Sirius said, although Logan suspected that something grave happened in Highever from the Cousland boy's expression, "We don't have time to talk. Not when—"

"—the Arl is in danger," Alexandra finished for her twin brother. Logan was almost impressed at their timing, and wondered if Bethany and Carver would have been like them had they spent more time together if Bethany had not gone to the Circle with Garrett.

"I agree," Leliana said, "We should not tarry when his life now depends on us." She caught Alexandra's eye and smiled, as though offering a silent consolation, to which Alexandra responded with a small smile of her own. Sirius noticed his sister's attention was elsewhere and nudged her lightly in the ribs as Teagan spoke again.

"Now that you're all acquainted with each other, I suggest you hurry to Murdock and find out what you can do for the militia in Redcliffe. Maker knows we need all the help we can get," Teagan said, glancing towards an open window at the dark clouds that were approaching in the distance like a bad omen, "We best be getting ready."

* * *

><p>Meeting the demands of the blacksmith and recruiting more fighters to Redcliffe's cause wasn't as easy as Logan had hoped. He had spent almost an hour with Alistair trying to get the blacksmith to open the door and when he finally resorted to breaking down the door, he was met with flying objects like daggers and shields. Alistair whipped out his shield while Logan cast a protective spell on himself, grumbling as he walked into the house about the thick stench of ale suffocating him. It took them another fifteen minutes to convince the blacksmith to start forging better weapons for the militia, and it was ultimately resolved when Logan and Alistair promised the old man that they would save his daughter from the castle and its hidden horrors.<p>

Bethany and Morrigan had decided to pitch themselves as healers—or rather, Bethany was more willing than the witch, whom Logan had persuaded with much difficulty—for the time being, assisting almost every injured man or woman in the village from inside the chantry. Logan knew Bethany didn't mind, but Morrigan seemed to be angry at him for forcing her to become a simple healer, although he had told her that she was allowed to fight alongside the militia. As much as he didn't like offending her, Logan knew he couldn't move around the village and finish preparation efficiently with a large group in tow.

Logan later discovered that Garrett and Sten had managed to recruit Dwyn, a dwarven mercenary that lived in a house—Garrett suspected it wasn't his to begin with—and an elven archer from the tavern just up the slope from the main village. Leliana had gone along with the Cousland twins to improve morale amongst the militia, and then reported to Logan and Murdock that they had managed to motivate the fighters, but not without difficulty.

"The damn owner of the tavern needed some convincing," Sirius said spitefully, as he recalled the owner, Lloyd, refusing them harshly and calling the village effort a "useless" one. "But we managed to get him to join our ranks. Dwyn just needed a little persuasion, but I think the elf is hiding something." He motioned to the lanky elven archer standing a distance away from Dwyn, his men and Lloyd, watching the archers while moving about his spot restlessly.

"He seemed to be nervous about something," Leliana remarked, "But we couldn't get anything out of him. He just agreed to help us."

"Anything else about the elf Alistair and I need to know?" Logan asked.

"Well, he seemed rather fidgety when we questioned him about what he was doing here," Alexandra replied, "At first, he said something about waiting for a friend. Then he changed the story and said he was waiting for his brother."

Logan frowned. "Maybe he knows something about the situation in the castle," he said, beckoning to Alistair to follow him as he walked up to the elf.

The elf gave Alistair and Logan a once over when he noticed them approaching him from afar. He seemed to become even more nervous as they neared him—Logan noticed the elf biting his lips and his tensed exterior—and tried to keep a straight face, but failed.

"You're joining us tonight, then?" Logan asked almost casually, trying not to intimidate the elf into running away. "For the battle."

"Yes, and that's all I'll be doing for you," the elf spat back, "No questions or anything like that. Be grateful I'm helping you fight these—these _things_!"

Alistair groaned. "Relax, man," Alistair smiled warmly at him, "You look as though you think we're going to eat you for dinner afterwards or something. We're not barbarians—well, I'm not sure about our Qunari friend there because he hasn't eaten anything we've given him so far—so can you stop looking at us like that?"

The elf seemed to relax slightly as his jaw slackened visibly. "I'm sorry," he said, sighing, "I'm just—just nervous about tonight, that's all."

"That's what he wants ya to think!" A voice piped from behind them. Logan turned around and noticed a rather large man holding a sword and shield and, judging by the presence of an apron, assumed that this was the bartender than Sirius had been talking about.

"Shut up!" the elf yelled back, glaring at Lloyd.

"Relax," Logan told him, and pulled the elf aside with Alistair following behind, "Just tell us what you're really here for."

"I already told your friends," the elf growled, "I was waiting for my brother's letter!"

Alistair chuckled. "And before that you were waiting for your brother," he sneered, "And before that you were waiting for a friend. Seems like you're holding a party in Redcliffe tonight—do you think you have space for a few more people?"

Logan looked at the elf skeptically. "What's your name and what are you _really _doing here," Logan said sternly, "No more games this time."

"I'm—I'm Berwick," the elf relented, slumping against a nearby tree, "I was sent here to—to observe the situation at Redcliffe."

"You mean to spy," Alistair corrected him sarcastically.

"Who sent you?" Logan prodded, sensing that there was more to Berwick than he had previously thought.

Berwick shuffled his feet nervously. "I—I can't tell you."

Within a split second, Logan rushed forward and pinned Berwick aggressively against the tree, not caring if his exertion was going to result in the breaking of Berwick's bow and quiver (the elf seemed to be more concerned about his weapon than his life at this point), and glared pointedly at him. Berwick struggled to break free and pry the mage off him, but Alistair already drew his sword and pointed it to the elf's neck.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," Alistair said, "If I were you, I'd choose something that won't make me bleed."

Berwick's eyes widened as he stopped struggling and looked nervously from Logan to Alistair. When he noticed flames erupting in Logan's free hand, he caved in. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you!" he begged, "Just don't hurt me, please. I'll even help the village and—and I won't divulge anything about the Arl!"

When Logan decided that Berwick was finally beginning to be honest, he released the archer from his grip. "So, spill."

"I can only tell you that I was hired by a tall man working for Arl Rendon Howe," Berwick sputtered, gasping from the lack of oxygen because of Logan's hold on him, "I didn't catch his name, but he must be very important."

"Loghain," Logan breathed, rage coursing through his veins, "It's him, isn't it?" He turned to Alistair, who exchanged dark looks with him.

"It's probably Loghain, but why did he want someone to spy on the Arl?" Alistair frowned.

"I heard the Arl was sick," Berwick told them, "And that I was to watch for any changes in the situation. Maybe if the Arl died, or if he was cured. But that's all I know, I swear!"

Logan regarded Berwick carefully and eventually decided to let him return to the militia. He turned to Alistair again, who still had a dark look on his face. "Loghain must be planning to eliminate everyone and anyone he knew who wouldn't succumb to his rule," Alistair said angrily, slamming his fist into the tree, "He's as good as the next king, now that Cailan's dead. Anora can't say no to her father, either."

"No one would support him," Logan pointed out, "Unless they are ruled by fear."

"If there's a man that could do that without blinking, Loghain's the man you're looking for," Alistair said, "We need to get this situation under control and get to Eamon as fast as possible. We can't waste anymore time."

They returned to where the Cousland twins, Leliana, Garrett and Sten were standing. Immediately, Alistair divulged Berwick's true intention of coming to Redcliffe. Sirius and Alexandra both looked deeply disturbed, something that bothered Logan as he watched them from the corner of his eye. Suddenly, Sirius whirled around and marched up to Berwick and seized the elf by the arm roughly and yanked him aside again for the second time in a day.

Logan rushed forward and forced Sirius away from Berwick, the former yelling agitatedly at the elf, "Where is Howe? Tell me! You can take a message to him, elf—I will not stand by and watch him take over Highever like a trophy! That was my father's land—that _is _the land of the Couslands and I swear, I will kill him—"

"_Sirius!_" His sister rushed forward and pulled him aside as Logan reassured the shaking elf that he wouldn't come to harm—not at the hands of anyone here, anyway—and turned around to see Sirius still struggling with his sister forcefully. Suddenly, Sten wrapped his muscled arms around the boy and practically prevented Sirius from moving properly.

Logan glowered at Sirius. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, glaring at the still-struggling Cousland twin. "You can't just go around attacking random people—especially if they're fighting with us tonight!"

"He knows Howe," Sirius said, more to Alexandra than to Logan, "He must know where he is!"

"That's the least of our worries for now," Alexandra said, "We can take revenge, Sirius, but not now—not when Arl Eamon is in danger." She dropped to a low whisper and spoke words into Sirius' ears that eventually calmed him down, so much that Sten decided it was safe to release the young human in his arms.

"He is more reckless than even the darkspawn," Sten commented gruffly, as he stepped away, "Is it wise to bring him along with us into the castle?"

"He won't take no for an answer, I think," Garrett muttered, studying the twins curiously. His eyes flicked over to Logan for a moment, before returning to Sirius and Alexandra. "Besides, he's probably just a kid."

"Which is why I do not approve of him tagging along with us," Sten brooded as he looked at Sirius and his sister, "His sister does not seem as foolish, though they are twin siblings. It is a curious thing."

"The same can be said about Carver and Bethany, but don't tell her I said that." Garrett smirked up at Sten, who merely responded with a wordless grunt.

"Calm down," Logan commanded, "As we speak, Arl Eamon is probably suffering in the castle—either from these undead or from his illness. We have to focus."

Sirius grumbled and muttered something inaudible under his breath, to which his sister responded by hitting him on the shoulder disapprovingly. Logan sighed and glanced up at the sky. Already, hours had passed like seconds and the sun was once again setting, giving the sky an auburn appearance. He hadn't realized how long they had spent preparing with the militia and Murdock until now.

"Is it bad if I say I'm scared?" Alistair walked up beside him, playing with his worry token. "I've never faced anything but mages and darkspawn—but blood magic? I just shudder at the thought of it, really."

"I've only seen it in action once," Logan said almost bitterly, recalling his experience at the Circle Tower, "I don't understand why anyone would want to resort to such… terrifying means of power. It is powerful, but dangerous all the same."

"Temptation is my guess," Alistair said, "And possibly because they might have had no other choice."

Logan smiled ruefully. "You don't sound like a templar to me."

"I guess I don't," Alistair agreed, "But that doesn't mean I'm going to spare any blood mages if we ever encounter any along the way. I still have my own beliefs and morals. What about you? Would you spare a blood mage?"

"If he were begging me, I suppose," Logan said, "Even the worst criminals have hope of redemption, don't you think? So far, I can only think of one person whose life would never spare even if he licked my boots and kissed my feet."

Alistair chuckled. "I don't know about that. I _did _spend time with the templars after all, even if I never became one."

"I understand," Logan said, as he watched Leliana guide the archers carefully in their practices. She seemed to be distracting the men rather than helping them, despite her valiant efforts in helping them to perfect their accuracy and aim. The men seemed to be more focused on her than on their own training—Logan hoped Leliana wouldn't be anywhere near them in case one of them managed to get their head sliced off because of the lack of attention to the right target. He would have laughed had there not been a Blight on his shoulders, but he felt himself growing more tense and more serious as the seconds went by like water flowing freely through his fingers.

Before his mind could wander, Ser Perth approached the two Wardens. "Grey Wardens," Perth said, "Are you ready to make your stand? We will be requiring your presence at the windmill immediately, when you are ready."

Logan nodded. "We're ready," he said, "Have all the traps been prepared?"

"Yes, ser," Perth said, nodding as well, "The traps have been set along the path that we predict the enemy will be using. Maker be with us, and pray that this will be an easy fight."

"You know, it almost never is, but I have a good feeling about tonight," Alistair said. Logan mirrored his friend's sentiment and smiled, bracing himself for what was to come. With everything planned out so smoothly, Logan could not even think about the possibility of anything going wrong.

He just hoped his confidence was not misplaced.


	11. A Way In

XI: A Way In

Nightfall descended the village of Redcliffe quickly. Logan and Alistair went through last-minute discussions with Murdock before allowing the chief to prepare the militia. The mage Warden noticed that everyone—even the Cousland siblings—seemed to be on edge the moment the sun went down, and guessed that it had been because of attacks prior to their arrival in the morning. It made Logan slightly uncomfortable, for he knew that things could have been different had he sped up the speed at which they were traveling, but there was no point in dwelling on such feelings, though they left him rather restless. Despite that, there was an electrifying air of anticipation surrounding the militiamen tonight as Murdock rallied his men to give one final speech.

Logan remained behind with Alistair and the rest as the village chief spoke to his men. They had settled it—Logan, Alistair, Leliana and Morrigan would be the ones to follow Ser Perth up to the windmill to hold a defensive position, while the rest remained outside the chantry in case anything unexpected happened. Logan had also specifically told Bethany to keep an eye out for the men—especially Murdock, who seemed to be their main source of motivation—and concentrate on being a healer, so that they would be able to minimize casualties for the night. What else these demons had in mind, Logan could never guess, so it was far better to stay safe than sorry.

"…tonight we fight for the Arl!" Already, Logan could hear the inspired cry from Murdock, followed by several cries from the militia in unison. He glanced at the Cousland twins, who both held faces of steely determination. Wondering why they had such an unusually strong allegiance to the Arl of Redcliffe, he made a mental note to ask them about how they ended up here instead of staying in Highever after the fight was over.

"Well, this is it," Logan began, inhaling deeply and preparing himself mentally for the inevitable. He had never been a part of such a serious operation before—there were no such opportunities in the Circle—and it made him feel a little unsettled as he looked at his traveling companions, wondering if they had done such things before. Of course they would have, he thought to himself, they were never imprisoned in the Circle Tower like he had been with Garrett and Bethany. "I suppose if we are to stop the Blight, we'll have to take small steps like these. We have to save the Arl no matter what—Maker only knows if he's being taken care of in the castle or left in a corner to rot," he continued, tugging at his gloves, "We need the army of Redcliffe to march with the Grey Wardens."

Alistair nodded. "We might also want to find this blood mage, if he exists," he said, "Teagan might have been mistaken, but I'm not willing to take any chances. A blood mage running loose around Ferelden might cause more trouble than we would expect."

"If we find him, he might be useful to us," Morrigan pointed out, "I am sure that, with the right words, even a rogue mage can be swayed to join your cause."

"I will not just spare a blood mage because he offers to take our side," Alistair growled, "Whether we have his help or not, he is still a blood mage. And blood mages are dangerous—of that I have no doubt." He looked to Logan. "You will do the right thing, I take it?"

Logan inclined his head. "We'll see," he said simply, much to Alistair's surprise and Morrigan's satisfaction.

"At least someone knows how to think," Morrigan drawled, conveniently taking a dig at Alistair. The Warden groaned and offered to check on Ser Perth and his men ahead of them first, though Logan knew that it was an excuse for Alistair to stay away from the witch. Morrigan and Alistair had been at odds with each other ever since the Korcari Wilds, so it wasn't much of a surprise that Morrigan seemed slightly pleased at the man's temporary absence.

"You know, you're going to have to get used to him," Garrett said, grinning, "I mean, you're a part of this as much as we are."

"'Tis a fact I acknowledge," Morrigan said, "I am no fool. It just seems to appear that Alistair and I have no intention of ceasing this admittedly useless bickering." The witch smiled slyly. "I happen to enjoy offending him in the most harmless way possible."

"Most harmless?" repeated Leliana, "You mean you could do worse?"

Morrigan laughed. "But of course—I only withhold such… methods because he is of a great importance to Ferelden, being one of the last few Grey Wardens. That is the only credit I will give him," she said. Logan knew she was relieved that Alistair wasn't here to hear her say that—he would probably soften somehow knowing that Morrigan, despite her cold and snappy exterior, did appreciate his presence after all, even though it was only out of pure practicality rather than sentimentality.

"You humans spend too much time talking about matters that are not important," the Qunari growled, "We must do battle with these vile creatures and save your human leader—if this contributes to the effort against the Blight."

"If?" echoed Logan, "You mean you wouldn't do anything about this if Arl Eamon couldn't help us against the Blight?"

Sten shook his head. "No, I wouldn't."

"Isn't that a little harsh?" Bethany looked to the usually silent warrior curiously. "You would leave people to die if they're of no use to you?"

"That is not what I said," Sten replied gruffly, "There is a Blight that is coming for us—surely Grey Wardens would know how to prioritize. I expected better of you. I have heard so much from Par Vollen about the Grey Wardens being a sophisticated order of brilliant fighters and strategists—or are those tales only true of the Wardens in Weisshaupt Fortress?"

Logan nearly scowled. "You're not being very fair to any of us here, considering how we were just recruited," he retorted angrily, "What were you expecting, Sten? Were you expecting mighty men and women riding griffons, charging into battle fearlessly?"

"Yes, and it can be safe to say that I am most disappointed at this discovery that you are none of those," Sten glowered at Logan, who held a glare that was almost measurable to his own. It was admirable of a mage—_almost_.

"We are not war veterans," Logan said darkly, "We are here to do what we must because we are Grey Wardens. If you think that we do not fit the standards of the Wardens in Weisshaupt, then make yourself useful and make sure we emerge victorious tonight instead of making things worse. The Qunari have honor, do they not? I highly doubt they would resort to such means of provocation."

The Qunari, almost instantly, fell silent again. This time, however, he did not speak not because he could not be bothered with this ragtag band of mediocre fighters and four Grey Wardens, but because he began to see the Amell's true potential. Sten turned away and faced the villagers who were by now taking their positions. "They are moving. We should too."

Logan tore his glare away reluctantly and motioned to Leliana and Morrigan to follow him. He looked to the rest and tried to smile, but he knew he couldn't fool them. "We'll see you in a bit," he said almost indignantly, glancing at Sten before looking back at Garrett, "Don't die on me just yet, you hear me?"

Garrett smirked. "Tell me how many you kill up there."

It wasn't until a strange fog descended upon Redcliffe that Logan realized that these adversaries were probably more dangerous than darkspawn. He had learnt much about the Fade and its dangerous spirits and demons—he just never had the chance to see them with his own eyes. His insides rattled with fear as he stood amongst the militia and next to Alistair, watching carefully as everything around them got hazier and hazier as the seconds passed. He gripped his staff tightly, feeling an uncomfortable feeling creep up upon him as he paced back and forth slowly, being unable to stay still because of the apprehension that was building inside him and in everyone else.

Leliana was perched on the second level of the windmill, holding her bow and arrow and keeping an eye out for the enemy. Morrigan had stationed herself safely out of the way of danger, but despite her insistence, Logan chose to charge ahead into the fray with Alistair and Ser Perth's team.

He had almost lost his concentration when one of the men yelled frantically, pointing in the direction of the pathway leading to castle Redcliffe. "There they are! They're coming!"

Logan nodded to Ser Perth and he raised his hand to signal the archers. The men, including Leliana, raised their bows in the air and prepared to unleash a rain of arrows on the undead soldiers that were now marching toward them. When the zombies were close enough, Ser Perth gave his archers the signal and watched as a storm of arrows rained down on the enemy, dispersing them slightly as some of them ducked for cover. Most of the creatures darted forward, resulting in a number of them being taken down by the arrows as the archers continued their barrage. Logan narrowed his eyes and waited for the precise moment when the enemy walked right into their trap and, catching Morrigan's eye, unleashed two large fireballs and ignited the oil trap that they had set previously.

The trap engulfed the undead in flames and had killed off most of them when it suddenly began to rain. When Alistair and Ser Perth saw that the fires had been put out, with the defeated creatures replaced with an even larger number of them, they charged forward into battle with their men following behind them and went on the offensive.

Logan used the rain to improve the lethality of his lightning spell as he casted it, causing chains of lightning to attack one undead soldier after the other and easing the battle for the fighters. Suddenly, Leliana yelled from above, "Logan! Behind you!"

As if on instinct, Logan ducked and dodged a greatsword that had barely missed the top of his head. His heart hammering, he jumped to the side and used a mind blast to temporarily stun the monster that was behind him. Seizing the chance, he cast Winter's Grasp and smashed his staff strongly into the frozen creature, smashing it to pieces. He looked back at the overwhelming number of undead soldiers that were being suppressed by the archers and slowly taken down by Alistair and the others when he spotted two that managed to slip past them and charge toward Morrigan.

The witch had seen them first and was already retreating when one of the beasts lunged at her suddenly, and managed to knock her down onto the gravel with it on top of her. Logan immediately bolted toward the undead soldier that had already raised its sword, preparing to stab Morrigan, and managed to knock it aside with his own body and smashed his staff into its face, mangling it even more than its face had once been. Logan got back onto his feet and whirled around to face another, but it didn't seem to make any movement to attack him. On a second look, he realized that Morrigan had conveniently cast a crushing prison spell on it and glanced at the witch with a small grin.

Morrigan looked pleased with herself as the prison did its own work and gradually let the skeletal corpse fall limp onto the muddy ground. By this time, Alistair and Ser Perth had already exterminated almost every other undead soldier that had attacked them, and the latter announced with a triumphant tone that the battle had already been half won. As the militia returned back to their original positions under the shelter of the windmill, Alistair rushed forward and Leliana leaped from the second story of the windmill and landed swiftly on the ground, almost as agile as any other cat.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked, his hair almost flat from the merciless rainfall, "I think we've killed all of them."

"For now," Logan added for him, and glanced at Morrigan, "Are you hurt?"

"I do not need to be coddled like a baby," Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest indignantly, "But I appreciate the sentiment. I am unharmed. There was no need to play the hero—I could have handled myself well anyway."

"Not from the way the creature had you pinned down," Leliana pointed out, causing Logan to laugh. The witch rolled her eyes and stalked off, finding shelter under the windmill.

"So what now?" asked Leliana, "Are we to wait here in the rain?"

Logan brushed his wet hair from his face, slightly irritated to find that the rain had completely ruined his coif—so distracted he had been that he did not notice Morrigan looking at him, admiring his roguish appearance. Alistair followed suit, and grumbled something incoherent as he tried to neaten himself. "I suppose—" Alistair began, but was interrupted as a villager came running up the slope, panting heavily.

"They're attacking the chantry!" the man said, pointing down at the village, where Murdock and the rest were already battling the swarm of undead soldiers.

By the time they reached the chantry, the fighting had already intensified. Logan leaped forward to save Bethany from an oncoming attack as he pulled her aside, as Morrigan casted a powerful mind blast that stunned every single undead in the area, giving the militia the upper hand. Garrett was taking turns with Sten to suppress the incoming waves from the docks as he attacked them with a barrage of lightning, ice and fire fusion spells while delivering swift physical attacks to keep the enemy back, and Sten charged into the fray and mowed down their ranks like a human tank. The Cousland twins were standing at the door of the chantry, supporting the melee fighters with their archery. Leliana soon joined them as Alistair and Ser Perth joined the fray beside Murdock.

After what seemed like an eternity, ranks and ranks of undead soldiers were finally defeated and the waves of them came no more. Logan felt his grip slacken on his staff as he let out a heavy sigh, feeling his heart hammering from the brutal fighting and from mental exhaustion. He felt something stinging on his arm as someone placed a hand there, and found that Morrigan was inspecting a deep and bleeding cut he had gotten from the battle. She muttered something under her breath and let the magic flow from her fingertips and watched as Logan's injury disappeared.

She looked up at him with a hint of a smile on her face. "Was that a thank you for saving your life back there?" Logan muttered teasingly.

The witch's lips stretched a little further. "I suppose it is."

"The battle is won!" came Murdock's cry, piercing through the momentary silence that had fallen upon Redcliffe. Logan turned away distractedly from Murdock to find that Morrigan had walked off to join Bethany as they began to heal the injured. The Redcliffe militia roared out triumphantly as the rain relented and reduced itself to a light drizzle. The wind swept through the village like a comforting breeze as Logan found the others, save for Morrigan and Bethany.

"That was brilliant," Garrett exclaimed, leaning casually against Sten, "You should have seen the both of us!"

Alistair chuckled. "I see you're both the best of friends now," he said sheepishly, earning a nonchalant grunt from Sten.

"We've never seen the militia so motivated," Sirius said.

"And particularly effective," added Alexandra, "For the past few nights, we've lost so many men and women. But tonight, we've lost only a few. It's a miracle."

Logan smiled appreciatively. "Their job is done, but ours is far from over."

The former templar nodded. "That's right, but we should get some rest for now," Alistair said, glancing up at the dark sky, "I think we can enter the castle when dawn arrives—I might collapse from exhaustion if we decide to head in now."

The Redcliffe militia was already beginning to gather the dead at the docks. Though there were not many that fell, Logan could still see how greatly their losses still affected the men. Despite that, he could sense that, from what Sirius and Alexandra had said, the militia was still a little more encouraged because of the way the battle had turned out. The men were not walking with slumped shoulders like they did in the day. The tired look in their eyes had almost vanished, replaced with renewed courage and strength.

"We shall send them off with dignity," Murdock could be heard from afar, "The brave men and women of Redcliffe have not died in vain after all. For the Arl!"

* * *

><p>Morning came within a few seconds—or so it seemed to Logan. He looked out the window and realized that it was still too early in the morning for the sun to be out, but he could not sleep any longer. He recalled the events of the night before as he sat upright on his bed, and remembered how the militia of Redcliffe had won a battle that had crippled the ranks of the undead monsters that had come from the inside of the castle. He wondered, almost worriedly, whether Arl Eamon was still alive at this point. Without Arl Eamon, the army of Redcliffe would be discouraged without their leader. Though they had Bann Teagan, Logan didn't want to lose a life of an innocent when there was still a chance.<p>

He slipped into his clothes that had been kindly washed and dried by the sisters of the chantry. He didn't like that they were treating them like royalty, but they had reassured him that they were doing this because they wanted to and not because they were obliged to. After all, it was because of Logan and his companions that there was a victory to be won in the first place. After placing his belongings back into his pack, Logan slung it over his shoulder and, after strapping his old staff to his back, left the chantry in hopes that there was something that could be done to pass the time.

The moment he stepped outside, however, he was met with Sten. The Qunari looked as stoic as ever, with an expressionless face. Logan wondered if he even slept, but remembered that the Qunari warrior had not even taken one step into the chantry. Sten glanced at him for a brief moment and gave the young mage a look over. "You are too young to be a Grey Warden."

Logan lifted an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it does," Sten said, although there was no animosity in his eyes, "It cannot be that hard to understand."

"Were you expecting old, wrinkly men?" Logan countered, crossing his arms over his chest with an irritable expression on his face. "Surely twenty-two is not too young an age? And Bethany—she's only eighteen. We've handled ourselves pretty well so far, in my opinion."

Sten considered Logan again, studying his face. "I never expected the Grey Wardens to recruit one so young. Your cousins as well. Your leader must have had a lot of faith in you to have accepted you into the Grey Warden order."

"He didn't accept us," Logan said, walking up to stand next to Sten, "We were conscripted." His thoughts traveled back to Duncan again, and how the man had conscripted them to save their lives. Though they escaped certain death, they were placed with a bigger responsibility—one that should not have been placed on all four of them so quickly had Duncan survived Ostagar. Logan pushed the angry thoughts—mostly directed at Loghain—away as Sten spoke again.

"So the Wardens would force people into their order?" Sten's tone was now curious. "Why would that be? I had the impression that the Grey Wardens were a respected order filled with heroes and skilled war strategists—clearly, an order that has been placed on a pedestal and worshiped."

Logan shook his head with an amused smile on his face. "Sometimes, we do what we must," he told the Qunari, as he thought about how they parted ways with Leandra and Carver, "For the greater good. For the safety of our family and country."

"Parshaara," Sten uttered. "I suppose there is a certain logic to your human mind."

Logan regarded Sten thoughtfully. The Qunari seemed to be trying to figure things out about the human race, the more Logan observed the warrior. If Sten had ever initiated conversations—which was as rare as Morrigan getting along with Alistair—it would almost always begin with a question. "Why did you come to Ferelden?"

"I did not choose to come here," Sten answered, "I was sent here."

"What for?"

"To find an answer to a question," Sten replied curtly.

"Yours?"

"No."

There was a long silence as Logan waited for Sten to elaborate, but when the Qunari did not make any indication of continuing the conversation, Logan probed further. "So whose question was it?"

Sten looked perturbed for a moment, perhaps at the young man's persistence. "The Arishok."

"What question was it?" he asked, wondering at the back of his mind what kind of question would be so hard to answer that one would have to send his men to seek it so painstakingly.

The Qunari groaned. "It is none of your business."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Why aren't you a statue of rock yet?" he snapped, and Sten glanced at Logan again with a look of mild surprise, "With your mannerisms and the way you interact—no, wait, you hardly interact with any of us at all—you might as well be an object I am foolishly trying to make conversation with."

"I am unlike you or the other dim-witted one," Sten said gruffly, clearly referring to Alistair. "You should not expect me to become your friend, because that is not what my purpose is. I do not, as you say, 'make friends'. Duty is above everything else."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't try to get to know who you're working with," Logan said, "I'm pretty sure you Qunari know each other, right?"

Sten sighed. "Do not hassle me with your feeble reasoning."

The mage had a sudden urge to hit the tall Qunari in the face, but suspected that his fist would be the one in pain instead of Sten and abandoned that idea. "You are odd," Logan merely said, "Are all Qunari as solemn and terse as you?"

"You have not met many Qunari then," Sten said simply.

"I'm not sure I'd like to." Logan pursed his lips and diverted his attention away from Sten and faced the east, where the sun was slowly making its ascent. "Are you going to tell me what the question was or not?"

"No."

* * *

><p>They gathered promptly within the next hour in front of the windmill, where they waited for Bann Teagan to arrive. Alistair was distractedly looking at the castle across the lake while fidgeting with his hands. Logan wanted to ask him why, but suddenly remembered that Alistair was of Theirin blood, which would essentially make Arl Eamon his uncle. He approached his friend and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.<p>

"He'll be fine," Logan said, hoping that he wasn't lying to Alistair and himself.

"I hope so," Alistair sighed heavily, "I don't think I can handle another death in the family. He… Eamon loved me like I was his real son. But I was upset, as a child. I didn't believe Eamon saw me as his own son, even though we shared the same blood. I'm just afraid I won't get the chance to say I'm sorry—I haven't seen him for so long, ever since I was sent off to the chantry as a boy and raised to be a templar."

"Why would he send you away if he loved you?" Logan asked.

Alistair grimaced. "His wife, Lady Isolde, didn't really like me much. She thought I was Eamon's flesh and blood, and that he had an affair with someone else, so she demanded for me to be sent away to the chantry. Eamon didn't want to, but he loved her though it gave him some problems—seeing as how he married her so soon after the war between Orlais and Ferelden—so he obeyed to make her happy. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten, just as well—the Arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me."

"What an awful thing to do to a child," Logan said, being able to relate to how he must have felt back then—Logan himself was snatched from his mother's arms when he was just a child—and felt rather bitter for his friend.

"Maybe," Alistair shrugged, "She felt threatened by my presence, I can see that now. I can't say I blame her—she wondered if the rumors were true herself, I bet. I remember I had an amulet," he went on, his eyes still fixed on the silent and seemingly deserted castle, "with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so furious at being sent away, I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do," Alistair blinked rapidly a few times as though he was trying to chase away tears, his expression now rueful, "The Arl came by a few times to the monastery to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything and eventually, he just stopped coming."

Logan tried to smile reassuringly, to show Alistair that there was still hope and a second chance, but Alistair could only smile sadly back at him. "At any rate, all I know is that the Arl is a good man and well-loved by the people. Being Cailan's uncle, he has a personal motivation to see Loghain pay for what he did. Other than a sentimental reason for wanting to save him, I think he'll be of great use to us in terms of political influence."

Footsteps could be heard from behind them as a voice called out, "Odd how quiet the castle looks from here. You'd think there was nobody inside at all."

Logan and Alistair turned around to face Bann Teagan, who looked worn and worried. "But I shouldn't delay things further," continued Teagan, "I have a plan… to enter the castle after the village was secure. There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family."

The Warden mage looked surprised as he asked, "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"I knew you would choose to enter the castle instead of staying in the village," Teagan said almost regretfully, "We need warriors. I'm sorry if—" He stopped in mid-sentence as his eyes darted to something—or someone—else behind Logan. "Maker's breath!"

From behind emerged a lady and a guard beside her, someone Alistair and Teagan both recognized. "Teagan," the woman exclaimed, "Thank the Maker you yet live!"

"Isolde," Teagan breathed, "You're alive! How did you…? What has happened?"

The Arlessa looked almost frightened as she spoke to her brother-in-law. "I do not have much time to explain! I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw that the battle was over, and I must return quickly. And I need you to return with me, Teagan… _alone_."

Logan narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. "Why don't we all go to the castle?"

Isolde glanced at Logan. "What?" she said agitatedly, "I… who is this man, Teagan?"

Alistair chose this moment to cut in. "You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?" Alistair sighed, looking at the Arlessa with an uncomfortable expression.

The Orlesian woman scrutinized the Grey Warden beside Logan. "Alistair?" she said, "Of all the—why are you here?"

"They are Grey Wardens, Isolde," Teagan told her gently, "I owe them my life."

Isolde looked almost regretful at her own hostile tone as she looked back to Logan. "Pardon me," she apologized, softening, "I—I would exchange pleasantries but… considering the circumstances…"

"Please, Lady Isolde, we had no idea anyone was even alive in the castle," Alistair pleaded, with a careful tone about his voice, "We must have some answers."

"I know you need more of an explanation but… I don't know what is safe to tell," Isolde said, moving over to Teagan's side. "Teagan, there is a terrible evil inside the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but it still continues. And I think," she stopped to let out a small sob, "Connor is going mad. We have survived, but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death! You must help him, Teagan. You are his uncle—you can reason with him. I don't know what else to do!"

Teagan placed both of his hands on her shoulders and gripped them tightly, offering a silent consolation as Logan spoke again. "What about Arl Eamon—is he still alive?"

"He is," Isolde said, "He is being kept alive so far, thank the Maker."

"Kept alive?" repeated Teagan questioningly, "Kept alive by what?"

"Something the mage unleashed," Isolde explained, "So far it allows Eamon, Connor and myself to live. The others… were not so fortunate. It killed so many and turned their bodies into walking nightmares! Once it was done with the castle, it struck the village! It wants us to live, but I do not know why. It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help."

"Do you think this "evil" could be some kind of demon?" Logan offered, looking from Teagan to Isolde.

"I do not know," Isolde said, her voice shaky, "Oh, Maker's mercy! Could it truly be a demon? I can't let it hurt my Connor! You must come back with me, Teagan. Please!"

"Tell me about this mage you mentioned," asked Logan, becoming more and more troubled the more Isolde spoke. Somehow, he sensed that her terror was because of a reason far more serious than just a single demon taking over the castle and killing all of the attendants. Logan had a creeping feeling that things were more complicated than that.

"He is an infiltrator, I think—one of the castle staff. We discovered he was poisoning my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill."

"Eamon was _poisoned_?" Teagan repeated loudly, his eyes widening with shock.

Isolde nodded, and let out a strangled sob she had been holding in. "He claims an agent of Teryn Loghain hired him. He may be lying, however. I cannot say."

"Why do I get the feeling you aren't telling us everything?" Garrett piped suddenly, stepping forward with a look of suspicion on his face. Behind him, Bethany, Morrigan, Leliana and the Cousland twins mirrored his feelings on their faces as well. Logan could not blame him—there was something else he knew that Isolde was hiding. It was evident in her eyes and the countless loopholes in whatever she had told them so far.

Isolde glared at Garrett. "I… I beg your pardon!" she said, seething, "That is an impertinent accusation!"

"Not if it's true," Sirius sided with Garrett, clenching his fists. "Out with it."

"An evil I cannot fathom holds my husband and son hostage! I came for help," Isolde exclaimed angrily, "What more do you want from me?" The Orlesian Arlessa turned back to her brother-in-law. "Teagan, I do not have much time! What if it thinks I am betraying it? It could kill Connor! Please, come back with me… I am begging you!"

"So why must he go alone?" Morrigan narrowed her eyes at the Arlessa. "There is an obvious indication that this may be a trap for fools."

"For Connor's sake!" Isolde cried, "I promised I would return quickly and only with Teagan! Teagan, I know you would order your men to follow you when you come back with me to the castle. I beg you not to—for Connor's sake!"

Teagan looked sadly at Isolde. "The king is dead, and we need my brother more than ever. I will return to the castle with you, Isolde."

"Oh, thank the Maker! Bless you, Teagan, bless you!" Isolde broke into a smile as she held his hand.

Logan tried not to roll his eyes. "It seems you have little choice."

"I have no illusions of dealing with this evil alone," Teagan admitted, "You, on the other hand, have proven quite formidable. Isolde, can you excuse us for a moment? We must confer in private before I return to the castle with you."

"Please do not take too long," Isolde said worriedly, "I will be by the bridge." After she left with the Redcliffe soldier, Teagan finally turned back to Logan and the rest.

The Bann fished out a ring from his pockets. "Here's what I propose," he started, "I go in with Isolde and you enter the castle using the secret passageway. This signet ring unlocks the door. Perhaps I will… distract whatever is inside there long enough for you to get in unnoticed. What do you say?"

Logan looked to Alistair, who by now had a troubled look on his face. The former templar exchanged looks with Logan and shrugged, deciding to leave the decision up to Logan. The mage thought hard on this, and, when no one else spoke up to offer their opinions, asked, "What exactly am I supposed to do in there?"

Teagan shook his head. "I wish I knew. I don't know anymore about this "evil force" than Isolde seems to. Ser Perth and his men can watch for danger at the castle entrance. If you can open the gates from within, they can move in and help you. I don't think there's anyone else who can assist you at this point. If you choose not to go, then it is up to me to do what I can." He handed Logan the signet ring. "Whatever you do, _Eamon _is the priority here. If you have to, just get him out of there. Isolde, me and anyone else… we're expendable."

"No way!" Alistair cut in, "We're not leaving anyone else to die in there, Teagan!"

"I agree," Logan said, "We'll rescue you all. I promise."

"You are good men and women," Teagan said, now addressing the entire group, "The Maker truly smiled upon me, when He sent you to Redcliffe."

Leliana made a noise behind Garrett. "So we're just going to send him with that woman? It seems so dangerous!"

Alexandra sighed. "I don't think we have a choice," she told the former lay sister, as she adjusted her leather gloves. "We'll just have to move quickly once we're inside then, and make sure they're all alright," Sirius added, glancing at his sister and the redheaded archer.

"I can delay no longer," Teagan said, making to walk off in the direction that Isolde did, "Allow me to bid you farewell and good luck."


	12. An Old Friend

XII: An Old Friend

Logan looked down at the Guerrin signet ring in his hand and felt pressure rising by the seconds. He clenched his fist and headed for the door to the mill and pushed it open. The inside of the mill looked as though it had been untouched for a long time—the last few streaks of sunlight that managed to stream into the inside of the mill only revealed how much dust there was inside the structure—as Logan began to search for the passageway that Bann Teagan had spoken of. He kicked aside some hay that was oddly placed in a corner of the mill and felt his heart skip a beat in surprise as he found himself looking at his entrance into the castle.

He knelt down and locked the signet ring into the trapdoor and found that the small object complemented the hole positioned just below the handle of the door. Something clicked and Logan immediately pulled the trapdoor open using the dusty handle and found himself staring into darkness. He stood up and slipped the signet ring into his pocket and left the mill to regroup with his allies.

"Well?" Alistair cocked his head to one side and looked at Logan expectantly, "Do we have a way in?"

"Yes, the signet ring worked," Logan said, looking from one companion to another, "I can't possibly take all of you in with me, so some of you will have to follow Ser Perth and his men to the castle entrance to wait for me. Alistair," he turned to the male swordsman and nodded, "Garrett, Morrigan, Sten—with me."

Logan glanced at the remaining people that were not following him first into the castle. "Leliana," he called, looking at the former lay sister, "I'm leaving you in charge. Follow Ser Perth and make sure you're at the gates when I open them."

"You can trust me," Leliana said, and gestured for Bethany and the twins to follow her in the direction that Ser Perth had traveled.

Logan turned back to the ones left with him. "Let's go."

They returned to the inside of the mill and approached the dark passageway through the opening. Alistair was staring intensely at the dark as though he was trying to look into the passage without the help of any light source. "I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered, as Morrigan, Garrett and Logan stepped forward to lead to way, with bright flames dancing in their palms.

"You seem to feel this way often," Sten grunted as he trailed after the Warden and witch. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were the newest recruit here."

"At least I have _feelings_," Alistair uttered under his breath as he descended into the darkness, with only Logan, Garrett and Morrigan as his only means of navigating the dark.

Footsteps echoed the seemingly empty passageway as they advanced cautiously. Logan forced himself to take one step further than Morrigan out of an odd sense of protectiveness. Though his breath was regulated and shallow, Logan could feel himself shaking slightly as fear ebbed inside him like the flame on his palm—the only difference was that this flame was growing slowly as it ate at his mental defenses—as he kept moving forward, appearing as though he was taking a leisurely stroll.

As they neared the end of the unlit passageway, something shrieked from behind them. Alistair let out a yelp as he turned around, his sword and shield at the ready. Logan rushed to Alistair's side and illuminated the path that they had just trod only to find nothing there.

"Maker's breath," Alistair breathed, "I swore I heard something."

"I heard it too," Logan reassured his friend, "Something's down here."

"Something of the Fade," Morrigan added for good measure, her eyes and ears alert for any sudden movement or noise, "We must move quickly—something wishes to ambush us."

"Great, a party," Garrett groaned, and began to walk ahead in their original direction. "What else can possibly happen now?"

At that moment, something brushed past Logan and tackled Alistair to the ground, and he seemed to be engulfed in a certain darkness that even fire cannot chase away. Immediately, Sten plunged his greatsword into the shadow—Logan wondered if the Qunari even cared whether Alistair would get injured in the process—and the darkness dissipated as a shriek echoed all around them, leaving a very mortified Alistair on the cold, hard ground.

Before Logan could even offer a hand to pull Alistair up, another unseen creature collided into Logan and threw him off his feet and flung him a few feet back from the main party. His vision blurred almost immediately as Logan landed painfully on the ground headfirst and, through half-lidded eyes, saw Morrigan rushing towards him and for a split second, swore he saw the creature's face as her flame brushed past it.

"Logan—"

"Morrigan, behind you!" The moment the witch heard Logan's warning, she ducked—but it was too late: the creature had caught her in its arms as it shrieked again. Several more shrill cries followed it as Sten turned around in the opposite direction and stood back-to-back with Alistair as Garrett helped to light up their surroundings.

_Maker help me, _Logan thought as he leaped to his feet and stabbed his staff at the opening next to Morrigan's face and found that his weapon had made contact. Immediately, he channeled his power and unleashed electricity through his fingertips that laced his own staff and electrocuted the monster that had held Morrigan hostage. The lightning lit up the entire passageway long enough for Sten and Alistair to spot the incoming demons and cut them down quickly. Garrett unleashed the best ice spells he could manage and froze the creatures long enough for the fighters to smash them into bits. Eventually, the shrieks died down and they were finally left alone again—for the moment.

"Shades," Morrigan whispered, referring to one of the lesser demons of the Fade, as Logan helped her up. "Blast it…" He noticed that she was shaking and immediately realized with regret that he had, while attacking the Shade, harmed Morrigan as well. As if on instinct, he pulled her close and felt a few mild jolts shock him as he tried to heal her.

"I'm sorry," Logan said softly, as he felt Morrigan's body relax again.

"You did what you must," Morrigan told him, her usually spiteful tone nowhere to be found.

"This is why I _hate _blood mages," Alistair exclaimed loudly in frustration, moving over to Logan's side. "We should move quickly. I think we're in the dungeons. I was in here once, you know—I can't remember whether I was locked in by Isolde or by myself. I don't know which story I'd prefer, too."

"I'm willing to believe it was the latter," Garrett chuckled. Alistair rolled his eyes, thankful that no one could see his reddened face in the dark.

"Hello?"

Logan glanced up rapidly, finding the voice familiar. _Too _familiar. He released his hold on Morrigan and sprinted in the direction where the voice had come from, turned a corner and found himself at the end of the castle dungeons where he could finally see without the need to use his magic. Sten, Garrett, Alistair and Morrigan followed hurriedly behind him and emerged from the darkness as the former templar was yelling for Logan to stop.

"Have you ever considered that whatever's calling out to us might be a—"

"Is—is anyone there?" the voice called again, this time more frightened and worried. Logan walked up to the last cell at the end of the corridor and, with bated breath, peered into the holding cell. He didn't know whether to feel surprised or indifferent as he looked at the mage—who was looking back at him with a sort of terror in his eyes—locked in the cell, and leaned in closer, scrutinizing the man.

"Logan? Garrett?" the man murmured, "What are you doing here? Maker's breath, I never thought I'd see you two again, of all people—"

Automatically, Logan gripped the bars of the holding cell and shook it roughly, causing it to rattle violently, shocking Jowan. "What am _I _doing here?" he repeated harshly, "What are _you _doing here? Don't tell me _you're _the one responsible for all of this, Jowan! Maker help me—"

"No, please don't kill me!" Jowan cowered back into the deeper reaches of the cell, well out of Logan's reach, as flames were reignited in the Warden's hand. "Please! I—I can explain, Logan!"

"About what?" hissed Logan, glaring pointedly at Jowan, "About your blood magic? Or about what you did to the Arl and his family? You _lied _to me, you sick bastard—"

"You bloody moron—" Garrett started angrily as he made for the cell as well.

Alistair stepped forward and gripped Logan and Garrett's shoulders tightly. Logan glanced at his fellow Warden, who shook his head seriously. _Not now, _was the unspoken message. _Not while he is the only key to the Arl. _Reluctantly, Logan stepped backwards and clenched his fist, extinguishing the magical flame, but kept his eyes on Jowan. Garrett followed suit, but not before hitting the bars one last time with his fist. Jowan jumped and rushed forward again, as though he was trying to get a hold of Garrett or Logan.

"I can—"

"You must be the mage Lady Isolde mentioned," Alistair interrupted him, his expression equally as dark as Logan's.

Jowan's hung his head guiltily. "You've spoken with her," he said, "Then… you know I… poisoned Arl Eamon. For all I know, he's already dead." The blood mage sighed and buried his face in his hands. Logan desperately wanted to rip the man's face off and tell him that there was no more room for regret—

"He's not dead—at least not yet," Alistair said firmly.

"He's not?" Jowan looked up at Alistair, and then glanced at Logan, "That's a relief, I can't tell you how much," He looked remorseful as he made eye contact with his old friend, "Please, I know how it seems. Poisoning the Arl was a terrible thing—but I'm not entirely responsible for everything that's happening around here, I swear—"

Logan scowled. "You're a blood—"

"Before you say anything else, I need to ask you a question," Jowan sighed, his expression pleading and desperate, "You can do whatever you feel you need to afterward, but I need to know—what became of Lily? They didn't hurt her, did they? The thought that she might have paid for my crime…" The blood mage held onto the bars and looked at Garrett and Logan hopefully.

"The chantry might have sent her away," Logan said, "I don't know where. All I know is that Irving did try to defend her but don't expect the chantry to listen to even the First Enchanter."

Jowan face contorted with grief and sorrow. "Oh, my poor Lily," he whispered, "She must hate me now, if she even lives. What have I done?"

Logan made no movement to go over and comfort his friend. There was no room for forgiveness between the both of them. Logan seethed silently as he watched sadness and remorse envelope Jowan, because he knew that the man did not deserve a second chance at anything anymore—not after what he did to Lily, his cousins and Logan himself—and looked away, an overwhelming feeling of disgust consuming him.

"So…" Jowan started quietly, "Here we are again, the three of us. What happens now?"

_I'll kill you, that's what happens, _Logan thought.

"We should just kill you right now, in this stinky cell of yours," Garrett growled. "But, unfortunately, we're all more interested in how you ended up in here, in the middle of this damn mess."

"I know it looks suspicious, but I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle," Jowan quickly explained, "I was already imprisoned when all of that began. At first, Lady Isolde came here with her men demanding that I reverse what I'd done. I thought she meant my poisoning of the Arl. That's the first I heard of the walking corpses and creatures. She thought I'd summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe. She…" Jowan hung his head again, almost as though he was in shame, "…had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her, so they… left me to rot."

"Why did you poison the Arl?" Alistair asked.

Jowan looked away from all of them now. "I was ordered to do so by Teryn Loghain," he told them, "I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him Loghain would settle matters with the Circle. All I wanted was to be able to return—but he abandoned me here, didn't he? Everything's fallen apart—I never thought it would end like this! Maker, I've made so many mistakes… disappointed so many people…"

"Damn right you did," Garrett snarled, "They should have just stuck a sword through you!"

"I wish I could go back and fix it," Jowan countered, "I really do! I just want everything right again!"

"You're a _blood _mage, Jowan, _how _can you make things right?" Logan questioned him angrily.

"I don't know," Jowan admitted, "I dabbled because it seemed the only way Lily and I could escape, the only way I could avoid being made tranquil. I swear, if I knew what would happen, I'd never have started down this path… I'd never have listened to Loghain."

"You always were a moron, but I never thought you'd be such a huge one," Garrett said dryly, "Loghain! The man who betrayed King Cailan and the Wardens to their deaths! Are you just stupid or do you have a death wish?"

Alistair shook his head. "Enough," he said, turning to Garrett with a stern look on his face, before turning back to Jowan, "So Loghain hired you to poison the Arl. How did you manage to become one of the staff here?"

"Connor had started to show… signs," Jowan explained, "Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of Magi would take him away for training."

"Connor, a mage?" Alistair said in disbelief, "I can't believe it!"

"She sought an apostate, a mage outside the Circle," Jowan went on, "to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. Her husband had no idea."

"Arl Eamon had no idea of his son's abilities?" Morrigan quipped, frowning at the trapped mage in the cell.

"No, she was adamant that he never find out. She said that he'd do the right thing, even if it meant losing their own son," Jowan said, "And that infuriated her."

"Perhaps her son was responsible for what happened," Logan suggested suddenly, something clicking at the back of his mind. The way Lady Isolde had been so secretive about something had hinted that there was something much more complex about this entire situation. If it had been another mage—Jowan, in this case—she would have simply asked Teagan to storm the castle with his troops.

"I thought that too," Jowan agreed, "Connor has little knowledge of magic, but he may have done something to tear open the Veil. With the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill and create those walking corpses."

Logan cringed as he heard Jowan's words. It took him back to his own Harrowing, where he faced two demons—a rage demon and a pride demon. Personally, he thought the latter was a more sinister foe, seeing as how it had nearly tricked him into letting it enter his body so it could leave the Fade. After waking up from his Harrowing, Logan swore to never trust a demon again—he didn't even want to go so far as to find out what would happen if he had decided to ally himself with a demon with dubious intentions.

"I see," Logan said quietly, "I think I understand."

"The Arl's a decent man," Jowan continued, "I wondered how he could possibly be the threat that Loghain said he was, but I did it anyway without thinking. I'm such a fool!"

"So what do you intend to do about it?" Logan asked, looking expectantly at Jowan.

Jowan shrugged. "I'm just sick of running away and hiding from what I've done. I'm going to try to fix it, any way I can," he replied, addressing both Logan and Garrett now, "We were all friends once. I know I don't deserve to call the both of you that, after what I did… if it ever meant anything, please… help me fix this."

"We helped you once in the name of friendship!" Garrett snapped.

"And I betrayed you both," Jowan admitted, hanging his head again in shame, "And Lily. I'm so sorry! Please, I'm begging you—won't you help me try and do one thing right in my life?"

Logan turned around to face his companions, and glanced at Alistair first. The former templar shrugged and let out a heavy sigh. "He's your friend," Alistair looked at both Logan and Garrett, "You two know him best, right?"

"Give me a chance, please," Jowan pleaded again.

Logan frowned and glanced at his cousin. Garrett was no longer glaring at Jowan—his animosity had been replaced with indifference—and turned back to Logan with a shrug. Logan had almost been sure that Garrett would never forgive Jowan too, but seeing the anger drain away from his cousin's face was more than enough to sway his feelings. Logan felt a little apprehensive as Garrett nodded at him—indicating that he would go along with whatever Logan chose—and turned back to Jowan, no longer as agitated as he had been a few moments before. He knew he could not trust Jowan completely, but there was still the issue of Connor. If Jowan could help to free Connor from the demon, then perhaps Logan would relent and spare his life—for now.

"Fine," Logan said finally, and stepped forward to open the cell door. "I'll let you out."

"You're going to let him out?" Alistair quickly pulled Logan's hand away from the bars. "I thought you were just going to leave him in there until we're done with this issue with Connor and Arl Eamon. You're not going to let a blood mage out, are you?"

"He can help us," Logan replied flatly, and made to release Jowan from the cell. He looked at his friend with a serious expression. "I'm trusting you one more time, Jowan—if you break that trust again—"

"What if he's decides to stab us all in the back and drown us in that disgusting blood magic?" Alistair countered angrily, as Logan melted the locks and kicked open the cell door, "What if he won't help you later?"

"I will!" Jowan insisted adamantly, "I just need a chance to redeem myself. Please!"

"This is stupid," Alistair growled.

"Coming from someone like you?" mocked Morrigan, smirking at the former templar, "How ironic."

"I'm going to choose to ignore that, Morrigan," Alistair said, glaring at the witch, "Because even you should know that there are some people in this land that cannot be trusted, even if they swore upon their lives—"

"Alistair, I won't let him pull any stunts," Garrett reassured the seething Warden, "Look, there's only about five of us and one of him. What _can _he do with all our eyes on him, anyway?"

Alistair glared crossly at Garrett. "Not you too?" he said darkly, "So all of you are going to trust a blood mage? Is this how desperate we really are? I mean, we have two mages with us already—and a witch! This isn't necessary, Logan."

"Well," Logan said sternly, "Call me a fool and punch me in the face, but I think even the worst criminals deserve one more chance." He glanced at Jowan now. "One more chance, Jowan. If you screw this up, you're never going to see the light of day ever again."

"Yes," Jowan said earnestly, "I—I won't let you down!" He turned to Alistair now. "You can trust me, really!"

Alistair groaned in frustration as he glared pointedly at Logan now. "This had better be worth it, Logan."

* * *

><p>Jowan had made an effort to restrain himself from using blood magic in front of them—especially Logan and Alistair—and only resorted to the normal spells that the Circle had taught them. He subsequently proved to be a great help, even though Alistair refused to see eye to eye with anyone who accepted Jowan—which was, essentially, everyone around him. Even though Logan didn't try to talk to his friend, he still hoped that Alistair would stop seeing Jowan as just a blood mage and apostate and see him as much needed help. If anyone knew anything more about magic and the Fade, it would be Jowan—the man had, after all, been at the Circle longer than Logan or the Hawkes.<p>

Then again, Logan understood why Alistair would feel angry and adamant about the need to execute Jowan for his crimes and blood mage status, but even the fiercest of men should have the tiniest bit of mercy in them. Despite what the chantry law stated, Logan was not bent on killing the apostate at once. It could have possibly been because of their old friendship, but Logan knew there was a more practical use for Jowan in the future.

Teryn Loghain had hired Jowan—surely the blood mage could testify to Loghain's actions and intentions at the Landsmeet and prevent the rising of a new king that was no longer of the Theirin bloodline. After catching wind of an upcoming Landsmeet, Logan had convinced himself to try to put Alistair on the throne—if not out of ousting Loghain, then to put Alistair where he was meant to be and present him with his birthright—Ferelden and the throne. The youngest—and remaining—Theirin would certainly protest, but Logan decided that he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

They emerged out of the wine cellar and into the courtyard, where Logan spotted a lever to open the main gates to the castle. Sensing that Leliana and the rest were already outside the castle gates and waiting for them, Logan took the lead and headed for the lever when a walking corpse tackled him from the side as more swarmed out from the top of the stairs to the main entrance of the castle.

As the others took defensive positions, Garrett rushed for the lever and yanked it downwards. Outside, Leliana led the way into the courtyard with Ser Perth's group behind hers. Logan slammed his fist into the corpse's skull and seared a brand onto it. The corpse stumbled backwards and whirled around and hurled itself into the swarm of its own. Seconds after making contact with the other corpses that were heading for the living, it exploded and scattered the undead forces. Logan leapt to his feet as Ser Perth yelled something about the "leader of the undead", and looked to the opposite end of the courtyard.

There stood a Revenant, armored and bloodthirsty.

"Maker's breath." Logan heard Alistair's mutter and glanced at him and managed to make eye contact for a few seconds before Alistair turned his stare stubbornly back to the Revenant. He tried not to roll his eyes at Alistair's immaturity and crossed over to Sten.

"Take him when he comes for me," Logan said quietly.

The Qunari looked down at the mage with a sort of understanding in his eyes and nodded gruffly.

There was no time for further orders as the Revenant charged, with his minions ahead of him. Immediately, Ser Perth and his men dived into the fray and bought time as Leliana and the twins leapt onto higher ground to support the melee combatants. Garrett and Bethany followed Alistair closely into the fighting and provided supporting fire to gradually force the undead corpses backward.

Unblinkingly, Logan ran forward and hurled a fireball at the Revenant once he spotted an opening, hoping that it would get the creature's attention. It did, Logan realized, as the towering figure began to make its way towards Logan, who was already making his way up the steps to the main castle door. He stopped at the top and looked down at the advancing demon and slammed his staff onto the ground and shook the earth before him, causing the Revenant to stumble, but did not manage to stop its advancement towards him.

He caught his breath as Sten lunged out of nowhere at the armored creature, his greatsword's blade stabbing directly through its waist and emerging on the other side of the body, with black blood dripping from the wound and blade profusely. The Revenant swung its shield in Sten's direction and, after bashing him several times in the face, sent the Qunari flying off the steps and crashing into several undead corpses, and turned its red eyes back to Logan. Its hand went down to the handle of the greatsword and pulled it out of its own body effortlessly and without wincing the slightest bit.

Oh, Maker.

In desperation, Logan mustered his energy and casted a—hopefully—potent winter's grasp spell at the Revenant and, to his relief, managed to freeze it into an ice statue. He quickly made his way down the steps and past the frozen creature, but was yanked backwards as a hand—that might as well have been an iron fist—gripped his neck and prevented him from moving anymore. Within a split second, he was being thrust up into the air and slammed into the ground ruthlessly. Ice fell on his face as the Revenant broke out of its temporary prison and, its grip on Logan's neck tightening so hard he couldn't breathe and his neck began to bleed from small cuts, repeated the horrifying process.

By the second time Logan was smashed into the ground—already he could feel a depression in the hard stone—he was already screaming out in pain as he heard something break with a _crack _in his body. He prayed desperately that it wasn't a rib, but whatever was broken would probably serve to be a major problem for him anyway. He closed his eyes and refused to look into the soulless, red eyes of the Revenant as it continued the slow killing process, and prayed for a quicker death—

And suddenly, it stopped. The relentless torture stopped, and for a moment Logan thought he was dead, but he could still hear the fighting. He could hear Ser Perth yelling orders at his men while blades crashed against each other, the sounds becoming more and more distant. For a moment, he thought he was being dragged off somewhere as the noise faded, but he realized that he wasn't hurting—there was only the slight pain that came once in a while, now that he was no longer moving. He lifted his head slowly and saw a gigantic spider in front of him, its back to him. It seemed to be writhing at first, perhaps in pain, but Logan realized that it was the reason why the Revenant had let go of him.

"Logan!" Garrett's voice echoed in his mind as he let his head fall back against the ground again, "Bethany, get over here—Logan!"

He could see his cousin's face hovering over him, filled with worry and fear. Logan managed a weak smile, but he heard Garrett say something in protest as he was being carried down the steps and laid down on the grass. Logan's eyes slid out of focus for a moment as the pain returned, and he saw, through blurred vision, that the large spider was gone and in its place stood Morrigan, looking over the Revenant's dead body.

"Maker, there's so much blood," Garrett whispered, "Will he make it?"

"He must," Logan heard Leliana say as he felt her close beside him, laying her hands on his abdomen gently. "There are several broken ribs and perhaps a fracture somewhere—Bethany, can you do anything about that?"

Bethany let out a strangled sob. "I don't—I don't know," she said softly, her voice full of fear. Alistair immediately moved over to her side and put his arm around her. Garrett glanced at Alistair darkly, but said nothing.

"Logan…" Jowan looked down at his friend, thoroughly shaken. "Can anyone do something?"

"Move aside." Morrigan's voice pierced through the short-lived silence, and Logan felt Leliana leave his side. The witch knelt down next to him, her golden eyes filled with a sort of fear Logan had never seen before. He let out a pained sigh as she lifted his shirt, but kept his eyes on her.

When he had been apprehended and smashed repeatedly, Logan had wished for death. But something changed his mind as he looked upon her weakly, his blue eyes losing focus from time to time.

It was clear—perhaps to the both of them, as Morrigan kept her eyes on his too—he did not want to die. If anything, he didn't want to die and become unable to protect his cousins and let Alistair wander aimlessly away from his destiny. He didn't want Jowan to die, either. His decision had already been made since he let his old friend out of the cell—there would be no execution for Jowan. No, no… not anymore. He didn't want to leave Leliana alone, either—he knew no one believed in her vision and everyone thought she was crazy and he had planned to change that. The twins—there was something about them that made Logan feel obliged to protect them, too, but he was in too much pain to think more about it. And Sten—it was so hard to figure out the Qunari, yet Logan did not want him to return to that cage in Lothering—

"Morrigan," he muttered without realizing, his eyes glazing over from the pain, "I can't…"

"Hold still," she told him softly, so that only he could hear it, "and relax."

Instantly, he obeyed and slackened considerably. He could feel a burning sensation consuming his entire body as his bones ached. When he felt them move, he winced and groaned in pain.

"Morrigan, what magic is this?" Logan heard Jowan ask.

"Nothing the Circle would have taught you," Morrigan replied curtly, concentrated on the task at hand, "'Tis not surprising, considering how they would not allow unconventional means of magic into their practices."

"Like blood magic," Jowan murmured, causing Alistair to make a noise of disapproval. "Sorry," the apostate added hastily.

Logan began to feel delirious because of the pain and made to roll over, away from whatever Morrigan was doing to him, when the witch held him firmly in place. No words had been spoken, but he knew what she would say. There would be hell to pay if he weren't so brutally injured—Logan didn't know whether he was thankful for that or not.

Eventually, the burning was replaced with a cooling one as the pain died away. Logan was almost afraid to move again as his vision became sharper and he regained full consciousness. He looked over to Morrigan, who had already stood up to make way for Garrett and Bethany.

"Are you alright?" Garrett asked, contemplating whether to help Logan sit up or not in case his bones could still break.

Logan nodded slowly. "I don't feel anything anymore," he drawled, but did not try to move, "I'm not sure… Morrigan?"

The witch looked at him with an amused expression. "'Tis alright if you wish to remain there, lying on the ground," she told him, "and doubt my abilities to heal you." He could hear mockery in her tone and sat up forcefully as though in defiance, causing Bethany to cry out in surprise, despite expecting severe pains to gnaw at him again. To his dismay, there was no longer any pain. Logan got to his feet and stretched leisurely—he might have not suffered any fractures at all.

"That was…" Alistair looked at Logan with a sort of wonder in his eyes, "Maker's breath."

"I know," Logan agreed, looking just as surprised as the former templar was.

"I'm just expecting you to fall into pieces again," Garrett said, smirking mischievously. "No, really. Anytime now, Logan."

Sirius and Alexandra had identical expressions of awe on their faces. Leliana merely laughed and embraced Logan in relief.

"The Maker has smiled upon you today," Leliana said, almost in a sing-song voice. Logan thought he saw a flash of jealousy on Morrigan's face, but her facial expressions were always elusive, and he didn't want to make lousy assumptions. The Qunari almost smiled—Logan noticed his lips twitching slightly at the corners—and seemed to relax, as though he had been tense the entire time though his face betrayed those feelings. It was almost funny as Sten looked elsewhere when he caught Logan grinning at him.

"That was cool," Sirius said, glancing from Logan to Morrigan.

"Do you think I could learn that?" Alexandra chirped, "It _could _come in handy, you know."

Morrigan's lips twitched slightly. "Perhaps in your dreams," she said, "'Tis not some simple flick of the wrist that you can learn so easily. It takes focus and concentration and—more importantly—magical talent."

"Oh, I suppose," Alexandra smiled sweetly at Morrigan, who rolled her eyes, "But we could try it later! Just for fun."

"Unfortunately for you, I do not indulge in 'fun'," Morrigan replied simply.

Garrett chuckled. "I'm sure you do!" he said jokingly, "Just not the kind that the twins can do legally."

"We're not—"

"—that young!" the twins chorused.

"Duck and run," Logan cried out in mock terror, "Or she'll turn you into a—"

"—toad!" finished Alistair, finally bursting out into a smile.

"Oh, joy," Morrigan sneered, "Excuse me while I go and throw up somewhere from the sickeningly cute finishing of each other's sentences…"

Logan snickered as Alistair punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You ready to go now?" he asked, with a grin, "I'm afraid our Ice Queen will do something drastic and reverse the effects of her spell. Then I'd really be crying."

"Right," Logan said, clearing his throat, "Are you done fuming?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "I'm not a kid," he said, and glanced at Jowan to make sure that he could hear, "I'm—I guess I do see some sense in your decision. I suppose it wouldn't be very wise to just—just slice his head off without giving in a little."

Jowan swallowed hard. "You—you templars do that?"

"Only the bloodthirsty ones," Alistair said, "And I'm not one of them. Actually, I think the bloodthirsty ones actually choose to make a mage's death the most excruciating, most painful thing they've ever experienced—"

"Well—" Jowan started, but Ser Perth stepped into view.

"Can we move on?" Ser Perth piped up awkwardly, "I mean, I'm thankful that you are alive, Grey Warden, but—" He glanced to the castle. "We have a situation that needs handling."

Logan looked to Alistair, who merely grinned sheepishly back at him. He could already imagine Duncan groaning in frustration—if the man was still alive—at their lack of seriousness. It would piss the man off and it'd be a sight to see, but it would only be amusing if the deceased Warden was actually still alive and kicking. Logan wasn't sure if Alistair could still laugh at anything if he mentioned Duncan again, so he held his tongue.

"Of course," Logan said, looking at Ser Perth sheepishly.

"Let's get on with it before the ground opens up and swallows us," Morrigan said irritably and louder than usual, "Do not start flinging accusations around later if we find that the young boy is dead—or worse, the entire family along with your Arl Eamon."

She headed for the main door of the castle first, followed closely by Logan soon after. If there was something about this woman he had to admire the most, it would have to be her, more often than not, dampening seriousness and lack of humor. It could drive Logan crazy to see her being annoyed to death by Alistair and Garrett.

Well, only if she couldn't retaliate. Logan suddenly thought back to when he joked about tying her to a flagpole and tickling her. Suddenly, it didn't seem like such a bad idea after all.


	13. A Demon's Fate

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for the delay in update! I've had a long period of examinations and the stress ultimately got to me—I fell sick twice and I had no energy to get back up. I thank those who still stick to this story and I promise I will update again soon! As of now, I still have to study for my finals and I will do my best to write frequently and keep you guys coming back. Thank you for the hits and reviews!

XIII: A Demon's Fate

Ser Perth ordered his men to wait outside the main hall as he motioned for Logan and the rest to follow him. The man pushed open the giant, mahogany double doors and took several steps more before pausing, a look of shock crossing his face as he witnessed the scene before them. Alistair peered over the swordsman's shoulder and let out a horrified gasp. Logan watched, rooted to the spot, as Bann Teagan danced around the room—sometimes dropping to roll on the carpeted floor whilst laughing wildly—in front of Lady Isolde, the guards and a young boy that looked particularly pleased.

"Is that Bann Teagan—"

"—dancing?" Alexandra finished for her twin brother, both of them looking rather mortified. For a man that had always been serious like his brother, Bann Teagan certainly looked out of place as he began to leap around and making strange, hooting noises in front of his sister-in-law and nephew.

"Has he gone mad?" Leliana asked, as Ser Perth slowly approached the Arlessa and the boy, with the rest trailing behind him cautiously.

"Arlessa," Ser Perth spluttered, looking rapidly from Isolde to Teagan, "What on earth has happened to Bann Teagan?"

Isolde opened her mouth to reply, but Connor stepped forward, glaring angrily at the intruders. "What are you doing in my castle?" Connor growled, his voice sending chills up Logan's spine. It didn't seem like it could belong to a boy of no older than age ten.

Alistair seemed to notice that as well and shuffled his feet nervously, feeling disgust build up in him. What had they done to the boy? Was he actually possessed? Was he actually the reason why everything was out of control in Redcliffe?

"Possessed," Bethany whispered fearfully, her eyes widening as Connor snapped his fingers and caused Teagan to fall silent immediately, "His soul… it is buried underneath this intrusion in his body. A demon has taken over him."

"We're here to… talk things out," Logan began calmly, stepping forward.

Connor narrowed his eyes at Logan. "You killed my army," he said, and Logan instantly knew that he was not speaking to the son of Arl Eamon, like Bethany had pointed out. "You are intruders—and most unwelcome, at that! I'm not stupid—I _know _what you're here for. You're here to kill me, aren't you? You're going to kill me because I'm causing all those poor villagers out there to suffer! Well, I won't stop and you _can't _stop me either."

"No," Logan said, "This isn't right. You have to stop this." He eyed Bann Teagan, who was still smiling like an idiot to no one in particular. "You can't keep this up forever."

"And why not?" snapped the possessed boy. "It's simple, if you think smartly enough. If I do this, then my father can live. My father won't have to die from that stupid poisoning and everything will be fine!"

"Are we talking to Connor or are we talking to the demon?" Garrett quipped suddenly, staring at Connor with a bewildered expression.

"I would like to think that it is both," Connor replied coolly, "It seems like a fair deal. With his permission, I can see the real world through a human's eyes. In return, I have given him his father's life."

"He's not actually able to walk around, is he?" Alistair countered, "Is he still sick in his bed?"

The boy scowled. "At least he's _still _alive!"

Beside Connor, Bann Teagan clapped his hands enthusiastically and guffawed. "That's right, that's right!" Teagan exclaimed, "My brother is _still _alive and all will be well!"

"Shut up, uncle," Connor snarled, and Bann Teagan fell silent again. The boy turned back to Logan. "Well? Do you still have any objections?"

"Many, actually," Sirius voiced out, glaring at Connor, "You need to go, demon, and out of Connor's body. For good. Or we'll have to rip you out of him."

Connor smiled. "You don't know how to do that."

"Actually, I do," Jowan said, stepping forward, "And it can be done immediately."

Logan lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Jowan. "What are you planning—"

"No!" Connor yelled angrily, "You are the apostate mother brought in for me! What are you doing up here and out of your wretched cell? Get back in there!" Logan could see that the demon inside the boy was losing its patience and was getting fearful—perhaps it somehow knew that Jowan practiced blood magic, and perhaps that was a threat to its grip on the young Guerrin boy.

Isolde let out a devastated sob. "Connor, please," she bemoaned, bursting into tears, "Stop doing this, my son…" She knelt down and latched her hand on his wrist and pulled her son close, though Logan suspected that it was doing nothing to improve the situation.

And suddenly, Connor looked up at his mother again with a different look on his face. It was almost surprising to realize the demon had let go of the boy, but Logan had a feeling that it would come back and take over Connor again.

"Mother?" he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes as Isolde held onto his hands now.

"Oh, my dear Connor," Isolde sobbed, "Stay with your mother, please—don't let that demon get you!"

And then, just as quickly as Connor had returned to his normal self, the demon returned again, almost as though it was toying with Isolde's feelings for fun.

Connor yanked his hand away from Isolde and shouted out in frustration and anger. "Get your hands off me, woman! How many times have I told you not to cry or make so much noise? Father is resting upstairs—you would do well to think of him before yourself!"

"Enough of your pretences, demon," Sten said, "It is time you left."

Morrigan stepped into view and scrutinized Connor. "Perhaps I can put him in a temporary prison," she said, drawing her staff.

Connor widened his eyes in fear and rage.

"No!" he bellowed, and quickly pushed Isolde aside and made for the door, but not before commanding the bewitched soldiers and Teagan to attack Logan and the others. There was hardly any time to catch the boy before the soldiers lunged at them, swords and bows at the ready. Logan could hear Isolde screaming for her son as she dropped to the ground, consumed by her grief, knowing that she wouldn't be able to get him back—not while that demon still remained in there.

Arrows flew past his face and hit several soldiers squarely in their chests and faces, paving the way for Logan to stun Teagan with a mind blast. The Bann stumbled backwards and fell onto his back, rendered unconscious because of the effectiveness of Logan's spell. _Good_, Logan mused, _that's one less man dying today. _

Alistair bashed several soldiers with his shield but made sure he didn't kill most of them, knowing that they were under the influence of the demon. After felling most of the Arl's men, it seemed that the trance was finally lifted as Bann Teagan awoke with a loud groan and sat up, looking around confusedly.

"What happened?" the Bann mumbled, rubbing his temples. "I remember seeing Connor…"

"He—the demon—had all of you under a spell," Logan explained, as Isolde helped him to his feet, "We tried to spare your lives, but some were killed off in the process."

"Deaths that will not have been in vain," Teagan sighed, looking over at the unlucky ones who had been killed off by Leliana and the twins, "What exactly happened?"

Garrett hid a grin behind his mouth. "Do you really want to know?"

Teagan tilted his head to the left, looking at all of them with a questioning look. "Of course I do," he insisted, "I didn't kill anyone, did I?"

"No, but you were doing a pretty bad imitation of the Remigold," Alistair said, rather amused at the recollection, "Or maybe it was an imitation of a monkey trying to do the Remigold. It was quite the sight, Bann Teagan."

Teagan looked horrified as Logan smiled mischievously in his direction, silently confirming what Alistair had said. "It was the demon," Logan said, as an afterthought, "So we know that wasn't really you."

"Maker," Teagan moaned, shaking his head, "The demon… I can't remember what it looked like. And where is it?"

"Upstairs," Morrigan replied, "'Twas your nephew, in fact."

"The demon possessed Connor," Alistair amended hastily, "It wasn't Connor's fault."

"Possessed," Teagan repeated worriedly, "We must force that demon out of him as soon as possible. Do you mages have a way?" The Bann looked mainly at Logan, who immediately felt the intangible load on his shoulders press down even more on him.

Someone cleared his throat behind. "I have a way," Jowan offered, stepping forward, "But I don't think all of you will like it much."

"If it's a way to save Connor, then I will hear it," Teagan said, choosing to ignore the fact that this apostate in front of him was actually supposed to be locked in the cells downstairs, not walking freely about. He would have to deal with that matter later.

Jowan tugged at the collar of his robes nervously. "I can use blood magic—"

"Out of the question!" Alistair exclaimed, his unhappiness flooding back to his face, "I will not allow that—"

"Look, it's the only way!" Jowan yelled back, "But…" He looked to Bann Teagan. "Someone will have to give up their life for the blood magic to be able to work."

Isolde looked up tearfully at Jowan. "I will give up my life to save my son. I value his life more than my own!"

Teagan narrowed his eyes, clearly not liking the way things were turning out. Even though he had offered to listen to Jowan's suggestion, he immediately rejected it the moment he heard the term 'blood magic'. It was a disgusting practice—one that Teagan felt should be destroyed and lost to time so no one else would follow suit and tread the path of such horrific corruptions. "Isolde, are you—"

"See, this is why I don't approve!" Alistair interjected again. He made a movement towards Jowan, but Logan held him back firmly in place. "I will not let another innocent die—what more because of blood magic—"

"Calm down," Logan said sternly, "No one agreed to it yet."

"Yet?" Alistair looked up at Logan lividly. "We are _not _going to use his method. No, Logan. We can't."

"Your templar ideals seem to blind you," Morrigan quipped, "'Tis only right we use the fastest way to save Arl Eamon's heir—or would you prefer he attempt to conceive another with the Arlessa?"

"I don't want Connor to die," Alistair growled, "Or anyone else for that matter!"

"You seem to demand a lot—even things that can never exist if the other is chosen," Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Alistair irritably, "'Tis more important to save the boy, Connor, than anything else."

"Yes, I agree, but blood magic—"

"Alright!" Logan cut in frustratingly, "We won't use Jowan's suggestion then. Do we have another way?"

"I do." Bethany looked briefly at Isolde before she turned back to Logan, entirely sure that this was the only way to save Connor—and the safest. She remembered her Harrowing, and how they had used lyrium to enter the Fade. _Since the demon is of the Fade, _she thought, _someone could enter the Fade and destroy it, and no one would have to die just to save the life of another._

She quickly explained her idea and found that most were agreeable to it.

"That's a brilliant idea," Alistair said, smiling at her encouragingly, "No, honestly. It's the safest and no one would have to die!"

"And _where _exactly do you intend to find said lyrium?" Morrigan voiced out irritably, "'Tis something no one here has considered yet. An admirable plan, yes, but a useless one all the same without what it needs."

"The Circle Tower," Jowan replied, "We could travel to the Circle Tower and request the aid of the mages there. They have lyrium, remember?"

"They did use it for our Harrowing," Logan agreed, the idea becoming more and more appealing to him as the seconds went by. He didn't want the Arlessa to give up her life either, though he knew that wanting too much was sometimes never wise. _But if we have a chance, we must take it. _

"So can we do this?" Alistair asked, forgetting his anger, "Can we go to the Circle Tower and request for aid?"

"I'll have to leave some people here to watch over the Arl and his family," Logan said, and added hastily, "Especially Connor. We can't predict what that demon will do—it's only safe if there are people keeping a close watch on him."

"You know, I think I'll just stay here," Garrett volunteered immediately, "I'm not quite sure I like the idea of setting foot in that place again. And Greagoir—oh, there will be more hell to pay if we bump into _him_, too."

Logan smiled briefly at his cousin. "And let me face the Knight-Commander alone? No chance, Hawke."

Garrett rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Fine," he said, "You're the boss."

"We'll come with you, too," the twins said in unison. Alexandra looked hopefully at Logan. "We've been wanting to get out of here for a while, anyway. Redcliffe's been boring—oops, sorry Teagan!"

"Yeah," Sirius added hastily, "I mean, it's not that we didn't like helping out at Redcliffe, especially these few days—"

Teagan, despite the heavy tension that had settled itself in his heart, laughed. "It's quite alright," he said, "It's also just as well—Logan needs excellent fighters to accompany him to the Circle Tower. I'm not expecting you to stay in Redcliffe forever, even though you came here from Highever after—" The Bann paused, and decided against continuing his sentence.

Sirius cleared his throat and looked away, feeling a little awkward now that almost everyone's eyes were on him and his sister. They hadn't told anyone what had happened yet, except for Bann Teagan—and the only reason why they told him was because Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan knew Bryce and Eleanor Cousland; it was only right that they deserved to know what had happened to their friends.

Alexandra caught Logan looking at them curiously and immediately felt a little regretful that they offered their assistance. She knew he'd be questioning them sooner or later—perhaps out of concern rather than just being nosy—but hoped that he would be too preoccupied and eventually forget about it. It was hard to talk—or even think—about what took place that night at the Couslands' castle. She wasn't sure whether she would want to relive that moment by talking about it again, too.

Logan looked away awkwardly, sensing their tension, and faced Sten. "You up for more traveling?"

The Qunari grunted. "Always, if it takes us closer to destroying the Blight."

Logan nearly sighed in frustration as he remembered the impending Blight. He had been so occupied with Redcliffe's situation that he had actually forgotten about the Blight and the archdemon. _Duncan would laugh, _Logan mused, _A Grey Warden, forgetting his most important duty!_

"Of course," he finally replied, and turned to the rest that he had chosen to leave behind in Redcliffe. "I'm counting on you to keep everything under control."

"Don't worry, we will," Alistair said, and then pulled Logan aside, out of earshot. "Are you sure you don't want to take the witch?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "She has a name," he said, "and I suspect she's a little injured from the fighting in the dungeons and even before that. Get Bethany to heal her, will you? And Alistair—she's not that bad a person."

The former templar grimaced. "It's only because you like her, that's why you're defending her. If you were in my shoes, you wouldn't like it either."

Logan patted Alistair encouragingly on the shoulder. "Be strong," he said, "You can always choose to face the wall and stick your fingers in your ears whenever she's in the same room as you. It's as simple as that."

"Fine," Alistair muttered with reluctance, "But don't expect anything to change when you get back."

"I wouldn't dare," Logan said with a smile, as he turned to leave. The selected few headed for the main door, led by Logan, and almost left the hall when a piercing, blood-curdling scream filled the upper floor. It was almost chilling to know that it could even be heard from one floor below—there wasn't exactly much space for any kind of noise to ricochet off the walls and down to where they were standing, and Logan instantly bolted for the stairway that led to the second floor.

Alistair followed suit with a worried expression on his face, and was soon followed by Garrett and Teagan. The rest stayed behind, on Teagan's orders—"In case anything happens, you can assist us later!"—and watched on apprehensively as the four men ascended the stairs with frantic speeds.

The moment they reached the second floor, three soldiers lunged themselves at the intruders, howling and screaming with tones that indicated the loss of their sanities—and perhaps souls, as Logan managed to look briefly into one of their empty eyes before dodging the heavy swing of the sword. He stepped backwards swiftly with Garrett by his side and cast the soldiers into temporary paralysis. With a snap of the fingers, the soldiers fell to the ground, unconscious.

Garrett bestowed Logan with an impressed look. "Where'd you learn _that_?"

Logan smirked in spite of the situation. "Morrigan does have some neat tricks."

"Come on." Teagan urged the three to follow him as he cautiously approached what seemed to be Connor's room. He cast a worrying glance at a door on the other end of the hallway, but quickly concentrated on the task at hand. Logan silently noted that _that _would have to be Arl Eamon's room, and made a mental note to visit the Arl after everything was settled. The Bann roughly kicked open the door and dashed into the room, only to see his nephew cowering in a corner, tears streaming down his face. Almost immediately, Logan could feel Bann Teagan softening considerably.

It was not wise to let one's guard down when a demon still lurks—especially when it is within its chosen host. Teagan made to approach his nephew when Logan held him firmly back with a strong grip. The Bann glared witheringly at Logan, but the anger subsided when Logan shook his head tersely. "It's not safe."

Teagan looked from the crying boy to Logan. "But that's my nephew," he said softly, "If anything, I should be allowed to approach him first."

Logan frowned disapprovingly, but released Teagan reluctantly as he caught Alistair shaking his head. _He's just a boy, _Logan could already hear Alistair say. _It's obvious the demon isn't predominant right now._

Garrett exchanged dark looks with his cousin as Teagan knelt down to usher his nephew out of his current position—he was sitting, curled up in a corner of the room with dead (or unconscious, Logan couldn't tell) bodies lying around and crying his eyes out—with a soothing tone. "It's all right, Connor," Teagan said softly, holding his nephew's hand, "Everything's going to be okay."

Connor looked up at his uncle, and then at the rest of the men warily with his reddened eyes. "You—you're not going to kill me?" he sobbed.

Logan cleared his throat and forced himself to look at Connor and gave the boy the benefit of the doubt. "I'm not," Logan reassured him, his tone persuasive and gentle. "Not if I can help you in any other way, of course."

Connor swallowed hard and nodded his head, as though offering a silent consolation to himself that there was no danger. He let his uncle help him up and he dusted himself, glancing briefly at the bodies on the ground before shuddering and huddling closer to Teagan. The Bann looked at Logan with an apologetic smile. "I think I've got things under control here," he told them confidently, holding his nephew close. "You must hurry to the Circle and return with the lyrium."

"We'll be back quickly," Alistair said, placing a hand on Logan's shoulder and urging the mage to leave with him.

"Promise?" Connor's sob seemed to reach out only to Logan, his reddened, tear-filled eyes concentrated only on the mage.

Logan bit lightly on his lower lip, uncomfortable with the way Connor was putting his hopes onto _him _instead of someone else like Alistair, who was closer to him like family than anyone else besides Bann Teagan. Without hesitating a second longer, Logan nodded, forcing himself to look at Connor right in the eye. "I promise," he said, before turning around to Alistair and Garrett.

It didn't take them very long to reach the stone steps until Teagan's scream echoed from inside Connor's room. Logan whirled around, his eyes flashing dangerously as he drew his staff and charged back into the room, with Garrett right beside him and Alistair calling out for them. "Hey, don't do anything rash—"

But what they saw next couldn't be anything short of horrific—horrific enough that Garrett immediately hurled an ice spell in Connor's direction. The boy released his bleeding uncle—thankfully, Teagan was still alive but unconscious with deep cuts on his neck—and dodged the spell, snarling angrily at them. He stood upright and pointed in their direction, glaring. "How _dare _you ruin things for me and the boy!" yelled the demon inside the boy.

"Get out of him," Logan commanded sternly, stepping forward. "Or else we'll have to—"

Connor smiled. Or, the demon did. Either way, Logan stopped in mid-sentence and half-expected Alistair or Garrett to say something, but neither of them did. It was then that he realized that the three of them were trapped in a very _slow _crushing prison—each second seemed to cause the prison to tighten by the tiniest scale.

"You won't bear to kill the host," the demon said confidently, now striding up and down, eyeing each of the men that were now his prisoners. "Well," he stepped forward and looked from Logan to Garrett with a small knowing smile, "Some of you would, I am sure, if the situation calls for it—"

"We wouldn't!" Alistair retorted vehemently. "We'll find the safest way to get you out of Connor and then it's the end of the game for you—"

"Stupid, stupid templar," the demon said softly, glancing at Alistair, "Or is that what you once called yourself?" The boy stepped forward towards Alistair, who now recoiled instinctively but didn't move very far back—the prison was still keeping him hostage. "I know all about you…" the demon continued, smirking, "Your hopes… dreams… innermost _desires_." The demon let the last word drag a little longer, when Garrett made a noise of angry disapproval.

Alistair felt his face flush in spite of himself. This was no normal demon…

"How would you?" Logan spat, glancing at Connor, "You're a demon—we know that. If you think that manipulating the situation and tricking us into believing that you know everything about us would—"

"As a matter of fact, I do," the demon said, turning his attention on Logan, "I know what _you _want, too."

Logan rolled his eyes. "You don't know how stupid you are," he hissed, "There are people downstairs who will come up at any moment—"

"Then let them come," the demon said lazily, casting a sidelong glance at Logan before turning back to Bann Teagan, who was still unconscious on the carpeted floor. He knelt down and touched the cuts, causing Teagan to stir slightly. "Stupid man wouldn't let me down…"

"Don't touch him." Alistair's voice was firm, if not completely steeled. The sight disgusted him as much as it disgusted the mages on either side of him, but he knew that Connor was innocent. There had to be another way to save him—there would be no more bloodshed this time.

Connor smiled. "Whatever," he muttered, looking down at his bloodied fingernails, "You have no control over the boy anymore. He doesn't even know you, anyway. You're as much a part of this family as a wolf belongs with the sheep." The boy's lips stretched into a wider smile, mocking Alistair this time. "They don't want you around."

"That's not true!" Garrett fought back angrily, "It's just that damned Arlessa—"

"Garrett." Logan's voice was cold and firm as he glanced at his cousin. He shook his head, and Garrett reluctantly fell silent, but not without looking at Alistair as he did. The ex-templar seemed to be far more disturbed by the demon's words than the fact that they were trapped here, helpless. Logan knew it'd be useless to try and shout for help, for the door had been closed, but desperately hoped that someone—anyone—would come up and assist them.

The young Guerrin smiled at the temporary silence. "What shall I do with you, then?" he said, looking from Alistair to Garrett and finally to Logan, "A trip to the Fade? _Permanently_?"

Logan shuddered and glared icily at the possessed boy. "Don't be such a coward and face us in your true form, demon. Or are you too afraid that you'll lose your chance at freedom?"

"I'd sooner be a coward than a fool," Connor said, glaring pointedly at Logan. Suddenly, the three prisons tightened greatly with such an abruptness that all the air escaped from Logan's lungs. Behind him, Alistair and Garrett were facing the same plight. They had no more time to have small talk with the demon, but they couldn't exactly pry themselves away from the prison that was now seeking to crush them to death.

Connor laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as the three men struggled to break free.

Loganfelt his lungs and throat constrict as he fought to breathe, his angry stare still fixed on the boy that was now smirking at them. Connor was so focused on watching his victims die that he completely forgot that there were still people downstairs—people that would probably be on their way up at this very moment.

* * *

><p>Leliana glanced up the stairway worriedly and turned back to the rest, who were all mirroring her sentiments. Logan and the others had been upstairs for far too long, and it scared her to think that something might have happened. She had never really faced demons in the past before—save for her personal ones that gnawed at her and haunted her constantly—but she knew enough to know that they were not forces to be trifled with or taken lightly.<p>

Morrigan was the first to step forward, her eyes filled with an unsettling kind of concern that Leliana had never seen before. "If it is a fight the demon wants, then 'tis a fight it will receive," she said adamantly.

Arlessa Isolde looked horrified. "No," she spluttered, "Do not hurt my Connor—"

Morrigan scowled at the Arlessa and glared at the now whimpering woman. "You fool," she hissed, "Can you not see that your son has been lost to a greater demon of the Fade? Tell me, when you look at that boy, do you see an innocent boy toying with magic or a murderous demon with a thirst for blood?"

"Don't _go _there, Connor's a good kid," Sirius started darkly, shaking his head in disapproval, "He may be possessed, but it doesn't rule out the fact that he is still a victim of the situation. We must not hurt him at all costs."

"He is the Arl's son," Alexandra added for good measure. "How do you think he'll react when he wakes up?"

"_If _he wakes up," Morrigan countered coldly, crossing her arms over her chest. When she saw the looks of horror on the Arlessa and twins' faces, she added roughly, "Be practical, will you!"

"Enough!" roared Sten, drawing his greatsword and stepping forward, "We waste time squabbling like infants! Make a move, or I will!"

Everyone in the room fell silent at the Qunari's angry outburst. There have been only so many people that survived the anger of a Qunari warrior, and there have been stories of the violence they are capable of—most or all of them ending in a sickening bloodshed. The Qunari have been deemed as one of the most fearsome forces in the entirety of Thedas, and have been sought after as suitable reinforcements to the armies of several countries, but the Arishok had always declined. Perhaps such a terrifying army would lay waste to a country's enemies, but the Qunari were never known for loyalty to anyone else but themselves.

This could only mean that they would not regret killing something that was not one of their own.

Sten glared at everyone in the room. "Well?" he growled, and glanced at Leliana expectantly.

The former lay sister readied her bow and arrow and nodded to the flight of steps leading to where Logan and the others were. "We must not tarry," she said apologetically, "Demons are probably not known for their patience." _Or lack thereof_, she thought, as she ran up the steps with Morrigan and Sten following closely behind.

The door to Connor's room was already open, and Leliana could see the bodies of Logan, Alistair and Garrett suspended in midair. She heard Morrigan scowl behind her. "The demon has trapped them," she said, clearly agitated that they had to wait so long before coming up. "Find the boy and apprehend him!"

From inside, Connor leapt from his bed as the Qunari strode in, greatsword at the ready. "A _Qunari_?" he said with much interest, "This is… a rarity."

Sten grimaced. "I am not a trophy put up for display."

Leliana emerged beside him, followed by Morrigan. "Release them," Leliana commanded, "You don't want to suffer the consequences."

Connor laughed, shaking his head. "You can't bear to kill me. I practically have the boy hostage. I know the Arlessa and the Arl would not stand to see you kill their only son, even if it is because the entire village of Redcliffe has, presumably, fallen under my wrath."

"Too much confidence can be a bad thing," Morrigan said. Without batting an eyelash, she hurled a dangerously large fire spell at Connor, to which Alistair responded with an anguished cry.

"Hey! Don't _kill _him!" Alistair yelled, his brown eyes widening in fear.

Connor ducked out of the way and hissed angrily at Morrigan as he backed away into a corner. A number of Shades materialized from the ground and advanced toward the party. Sten stepped forward and swung his greatsword with surprising precision and cut them down, clearing the path to the boy.

"Get us out of here!" Garrett said angrily, clearly losing oxygen fast as the prisons crushed them further.

"The demon!" hissed Sten as Connor bolted out of the room and headed down the stairs, "We must apprehend it!"

"Don't hurt him—" Alistair began, but his words fell on deaf ears as Leliana and Sten ran out after the boy. Morrigan swung her staff in one swift movement and destroyed the crushing prisons, freeing the three men. Logan fell to his knees, coughing and gasping for air at the same time, relieved he hadn't met his end yet and glanced at Garrett, who looked annoyed beyond words.

"When I get my hands on that demon…" Garrett grumbled, the rest of his sentence turning into a series of incoherent growls.

Alistair wasted no time as he leapt to his feet with a flustered look on his face, made sure he had everything and dashed downwards after Leliana and Sten. Morrigan rolled her eyes and muttered something inaudible in an irritable tone, as Garrett and Logan stood up to find that their friend had already reached the first landing of the castle.

"That was fast," Garrett said, raising his eyebrows. "I haven't seen him run that fast since we saw that merchant selling cheese in Lothering."

Logan tried not to smile as the mental image of Alistair breaking apart from the main group and running towards the merchant's stall at breakneck speed after letting out an excited noise flashed in his mind. He regretted not stopping the ex-templar—it was the first night after Lothering that Alistair dumped a large chunk of cheese into the pot and caused everyone (except for Morrigan and himself, but Logan wasn't willing to believe that—Alistair had disappeared for a while during dinner) to suffer from stomachaches that lasted for the rest of the night.

"He's probably run after the boy, wanting to save him again," Morrigan said in an almost lamentable tone. "We had best go downstairs lest he hurts someone or himself. Do you not agree that Alistair is trying too hard?"

The Warden glanced at the beautiful witch and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

Morrigan would have scowled if it weren't for the fact that it was Logan Amell looking at her curiously with those electric blue eyes of his. She cursed him inwardly for feeling this way as she pretended to be unaffected by his look. "The boy—Connor. He is possessed, is he not? What are the chances that he could actually be freed from such a monstrosity?"

Logan pursed his lips and looked away from Morrigan. In truth, Logan didn't see much hope in freeing Connor from the grasp of this demon, but it was only because of Alistair's determined pursuit of a better solution that forced him, too, to look for an alternative that _didn't _result in the Guerrin heir's death. It wasn't his first choice, but Logan felt the need to honor his friend's notion first before his own.

"There's always a chance," Logan said carefully, "But if it has to end badly…"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Always the better man," she scoffed, visibly unimpressed, "It _will _be the death of you one day, Logan, I can promise you that."

Logan shook his head and sighed. "The Arl, Lady Isolde and even Connor are perhaps the closest thing Alistair has to family. You should know that."

"'Tis a moot point," Morrigan said simply, before a scream—Leliana's—suddenly interrupted them.

"Hey! I'll take care of Bann Teagan," Garrett said, "You two head downstairs and see what happened—"

Logan didn't need any more telling to know that something was going on down there. He dashed out of Connor's room with Morrigan following closely behind him and descended the stairs—it was in times like these that he greatly detested castles and their grandeur (he honestly thought that such structures could actually afford to be a little shorter or smaller)—as the noise suddenly died down the closer they got to the first floor.

They reached the first landing and emerged in the main hall. Logan looked at his companions confusedly as they were huddled around something, all of them silent and still. He walked up to the former lay sister and tapped her lightly on the shoulder with a questioning look, but it disappeared the moment he saw tears in her eyes.

"Leli—"

"He's dead," Leliana whispered, shaking her head. "We could have saved him but…"

A sob pierced through the silence, and Logan immediately knew it to be Isolde's. He gently pushed through Sten and the twins and saw Isolde, on the ground, cradling her dead son in her arms. A pang of guilt struck him—the feeling was akin to being splashed by a bucket of ice cold water. Logan noticed a large wound in Connor's chest, and immediately looked up and around. He didn't have to take a long time before his eyes fell upon the bloodied blade that Alistair held. His eyes met the former templar's and saw an overwhelming amount of regret in Alistair's hazel brown eyes.

But there was more than just regret—Logan didn't have to look into Alistair's eyes to know what it was. Self-loathing. He instinctively made to approach his friend, but Alistair pushed his way out of the suffocating circle and stormed out the castle. Within a blink of an eye, Bethany tore after him.

"Maker keep him," Logan heard Sirius whisper sadly, "He was such a good boy."

Logan let out a slow breath as he knelt down and offered Isolde a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. "Arlessa," he started, but then stopped as the Orlesian woman looked up at him with reddened, puffy eyes. He bit his lip and shook his head. "Remember him as he was, my lady."

Isolde let out a soft sob again as she watched Sten lift up Connor in his arms. "A funeral," Sten grunted, "It must be done."

The Qunari seemed to be teetering on the edge of saying more, but he decided against it as he fell silent again. Logan knew what it was—Connor deserved a funeral because he died as a consequence of his mother's selfishness. Everything about this should be causing Logan to feel anger towards Isolde, but he couldn't bring himself to. After all, she had just lost her only son. He didn't want to think about how Arl Eamon would react once he found out.

"We'll make the arrangements," Sirius offered, "Where is Bann Teagan?"

Logan glanced at the dark-haired boy and indicated the steps leading up to Connor's room. "He's upstairs. Slightly injured, but all right, I think. Garrett's up there with him."

Sirius nodded and looked to his twin sister. They exchanged identical looks before swiftly making their way up. Logan turned back and watched Leliana lead Isolde to a chair. Morrigan remained by his side and clicked her tongue.

"It did not need to end so painfully, had they not been so bent on their ways," Morrigan said softly. Her words were supposed to sound harsh and cruel, but Logan couldn't deny the sympathy in her tone. He looked at her and smiled bitterly.

"Sometimes I think the very same thing."

* * *

><p>"Alistair!"<p>

"Leave me alone."

Bethany would have laughed if the situation had not turned out so badly—Alistair was crouching in the middle of the courtyard and was hiding his face in his hands, refusing to look up at her. She tried to pry his hands away from his face and was determined to have a proper, sobering conversation with him, but he refused to budge.

"Come on," she persisted, tugging at his gloved hands.

Alistair sighed. "Just… leave me alone, Bethany," Alistair mumbled, shaking his head.

"Are you going to stay like this forever?"

"Maybe, yeah!" came the stubborn reply, "Maybe I'll turn to stone or something and… and die."

Bethany rolled her eyes. "Alistair, it wasn't your fault," she said gently, "Everyone knows that. Even Lady Isolde. Connor _wanted _someone to do it because he knew there was no other way. If we had left him with the Bann and Lady Isolde while we made for the Circle Tower, things would have turned out even worse!"

Alistair remained silent, but he relented a little and lowered his hands. "I was so sure we could have done this without killing anyone," he muttered, glancing up at the auburn sky wistfully, "He was the Arl's son… the Arl's _only _son. And I let him die… _I _killed him. So much for repaying the Arl, huh? Ending an undead infestation in his village and then taking away his heir… he's never going to forgive me."

"You had no choice. You saw what happened in there," Bethany said seriously, "If you didn't do it, then someone else would have. Sten would have… or Leliana… or even Sirius or Alexandra. You know that."

Alistair groaned as the scene played in his mind again like a recurring nightmare.

_Connor dashed into the main hall where everyone else had been waiting anxiously for them. Alistair was right behind him as the boy pushed through the startled figures and the former templar was just about to grab Connor by the collar when six shades materialized out of nowhere and surrounded them._

"_Connor!" Isolde screamed, and made to chase after her son, but was knocked unconscious by a shade that had immediately set its sights on her. Bethany immediately turned it to ice swiftly and moved over to Isolde's unconscious form, as the rest moved into defensive positions with shades circling them._

"_Get the boy!" Sten yelled, moving to fend off the shades. Sirius and Alistair bolted after Connor, who scowled and finally decided to stop running and turned to face them. "You want the boy? Come and get him!" snarled the demon within._

_Sirius lunged at Connor and held onto the boy's body and attempted to knock him out, but a blast of spirit energy threw him backwards and sent him crashing into Alistair. Disoriented, Alistair tried to focus on Connor as darkness flooded out of nowhere from all corners. At first, he thought it was because he was losing consciousness, but he soon realized that the "darkness" that was enveloping him were, in fact, shades._

_Sirius struggled to get back on his feet and looked around dazedly, before making his way towards Connor again. Shades were circling him and everyone else, and all he could see was the delighted smirk of a young boy that sent rage coursing through his veins—_

_A scream pierced through the chaos and Alistair turned around to see Leliana being engulfed by three or more shades—Alistair couldn't tell, because it just looked like a huge darkness was swallowing her—and, within a split second, witnessed Alexandra throwing herself at the creatures and cutting through them with her daggers. He was momentarily fazed as the shades flooded the hall, but an evil chuckle brought him back to what he knew he had to do._

_With his sword and shield, Alistair pushed through the stubborn shades and cleaved a path towards Connor, who had by now trapped Sirius and Sten in crushing prisons that seemed to be suffocating them at an alarming speed. He cast a quick glance behind him, where Alexandra and Leliana were backed into a corner and attempting to fend off the hungry shades, and Bethany was trying her best to repel the monstrous beings with a variety of spells, and turned back to Connor._

_The demon was so focused on killing Sirius and Sten that he didn't notice the man dropping his shield and running towards him. Suddenly, he could feel no more power. Sirius and Sten were abruptly released from their prisons and fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for air, as the shades around them died away, their shrieks barely a whisper. Connor looked to the man responsible for the blade through his chest and found himself looking up at a grief-stricken Alistair._

_There was a rage in the boy's eyes. "You…"_

_Alistair said nothing as he removed the blade from Connor's chest. Suddenly, the boy's eyes softened and his lips stretched into what looked like a smile. Alistair felt his heart wrench as he realized what—or in this case, _who_—he was looking at. "C-Connor?"_

_The boy looked grateful, even as the pain consumed him. "Thank you," he whispered, "I… take care of… him. Find a cure…"_

"_I could have saved you," Alistair muttered, "I'm so—"_

_Connor had already stopped breathing before Alistair could finish his sentence._

"Are you alright?" Bethany's voice dissolved the memory, and Alistair found himself looking directly at her.

He cleared his throat and realized what he was doing and who he was with, instantly feeling the heat rush to his face. "I'm fine," he said nervously, "I… I just… I guess couldn't deal with it at first. But I remembered him thanking me and he—he told me to take care of Arl Eamon. I can't be moping about to do that, right?"

Bethany smiled. "Right!" she said cheerfully, extending a hand. "Now get up and pull yourself together."

Alistair grasped her hand with a little too much enthusiasm, but thankfully Bethany didn't notice. She pulled him up and—to his surprise and joy—did not let go of his hand as she walked back with him into the castle.


	14. Taking Blind Steps

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in update! I've been so busy working and preparing for my new school semester-it's been absolutely crazy. Here's one of my longer updates. Thank you for staying with me and staying with this story. Your support means a lot to me. Please R&R! Enjoy :)_

Chapter XIV: Taking Blind Steps

Logan wasn't exactly looking forward to attending the funeral, but had only stayed because they still had one pressing matter left to attend to—curing the arl. The mage tried his best to avoid any reminders of the previous day's events as he waited for preparations to be made. Since that afternoon almost every servant—every servant _left_, that is—were assigned with different menial tasks and saw to the preparations of the sad affair alongside Bann Teagan and Arlessa Isolde. Even the village of Redcliffe had pitched in, with Murdoch and several other militiamen working with the craftsmen to quickly, but carefully, build a coffin fitting for the arl's dead son.

The Bann had insisted that Logan and his companions—including the twins, for they were their newest addition—rest for the day and recuperate while everything was underway, to which Logan agreed without complaints. Teagan had let them use several extra rooms—which were startlingly well furnished, but what else was one to expect from the arl of Redcliffe?—on the third floor of the castle and left them for the day, and reminded them that he would only return when preparations were finally completed. Logan was only more than happy to oblige. He had wanted time alone to himself and his thoughts, especially because of what lay ahead before them.

According to Teagan, Arl Eamon's illness was practically incurable—no physician that had ever visited the castle of Redcliffe emerged victorious in finding a suitable cure for Eamon—but there was one last glimmer of hope left for them yet: the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

"_Andraste's ashes," Teagan explained to them, "are believed to be the last chance that Eamon has at survival."_

_Logan had almost scoffed at Teagan then. Despite being a believer in the Maker, he hadn't really bothered himself with dabbling into their superstitious beliefs or myths. It was ironic simply because he was a mage, but he could not exactly bring himself to put all of his faith and hope in an urn of ashes of a dead person—did it even belong to Andraste?—which may have very well been based on pure rumors and nothing more. The only person who responded positively to this lead was Leliana._

"_Her ashes still remain in Ferelden?" the red-haired lay sister asked, bouncing up and down on her seat with a childlike excitement, "This I would like to see!"_

_Alistair narrowed his eyes and made a loud noise of disapproval. "How are you even sure those ashes belong to Andraste?" he asked sceptically, voicing out Logan's thoughts unknowingly, "I mean, if anything, Ferelden is pretty much riddled with myths and legends. Some have already been proven to be lies—what makes this any less a rumor than anything else?"_

"_Thedas is also filled with these kinds of tales and legends," Bethany added for good measure, earning a smile of gratitude from Alistair. She turned scarlet almost immediately upon making eye contact with the ex-templar and hastily faced Teagan once more. "We can't actually be sure."_

"_It's not that we don't want to heal the arl," Logan interjected hastily, when he saw the look of discomfort growing on Teagan's face, "It's just… we don't want to go on a wild goose chase and end up retrieving the ashes of someone who isn't Andraste. We want to save the arl as much as you want to, Bann Teagan."_

_Teagan held up his hand and, with a ghost of a smile on his face, chuckled, in spite of the situation. "I know you all have doubts," he said, "I have had a fair share of those as well, before you arrived and got us out of this mess. But we've received word from Denerim that a man named Genitivi—more commonly addressed as Brother Genitivi—has proof that those ashes do indeed belong to the bride of the Maker… and the exact location of this urn."_

_Logan glanced at Alistair, Bethany and Leliana briefly, just to examine their reactions, and quickly turned back to Bann Teagan, who now had a smile of pure confidence on his face. It was almost a contagious kind of confidence, and it reassured a part of Logan. He scratched his head and sighed, deciding to give in and take a chance on these ashes. "This means we'll have to go to Denerim next."_

Now, he sat in front of a map of Thedas with a quill in his hand, pensive. Carefully, he traced a path from their current location and extended the line towards the northeast, and finally landed the last drop of ink on top of Denerim. He sighed heavily as a million thoughts rushed through his mind while his eyes remained transfixed on the capital city of Ferelden. Loghain was, without a doubt, going to be present in Denerim—he would probably rather stay to control his daughter and effectively strengthen his grip on Ferelden than hunt the Grey Wardens who he knew were seeking to kill him—and it made Logan wonder if they were going to face any difficulty upon entering the city.

His cerulean blue eyes roamed the map, glancing at every remaining location that Alistair had marked out. These were the places that they had yet to visit. After a moment's deliberation, Logan reluctantly plotted another journey from Denerim to Lake Calenhad, where the Circle Tower stood tall. Logan had had no intention of returning to that dreaded tower, but now duty had willed it to be so. Even if he did not want to see Greagoir or any other templar again for the rest of his life, it seemed that he did not have much of a choice left.

He was about to plot another course when a knock on the door startled him. The quill fell out of Logan's hand as he turned to the doorway. Immediately, the sight of the beautiful witch of the Wilds left him breathless.

"Morrigan," he said, trying to sound calm. He thought everyone else was in their rooms and hadn't thought twice about closing the door for privacy—but why did he even think of doing so? If he had, he wouldn't have had the chance of seeing her again—what more be in the same room as her with no one else around? The witch's presence was certainly not unwelcome to him, even if it was at such a late hour.

"'Tis only I," Morrigan said, striding towards him confidently, "You look surprised. Have you forgotten that I am one of you?"

Logan shook his head—denying Morrigan's claim and, at the same time, trying to regain his focus and stop his mind from spinning. "No," he said, "I just expected everyone else to be asleep or resting—as I was."

"You were not," she corrected him with a harshness that did not scare him. It sounded more protective, more disapproving rather than spiteful this time. As every single time he laid his eyes on her, Logan was drawn towards her like a magnet once more. Morrigan crossed over to the table behind him, her golden eyes flickering over to the map and regarded it thoughtfully, before directing her attention back to the Warden. "You were plotting our next moves, I see?"

Logan nodded, attempting to stay composed and pretending that her presence didn't affect him so much so that he felt like a little boy in the presence of a very beautiful woman. He noticed that Morrigan still kept her unreadable eyes trained on him, and could almost feel her stare burning into him. He felt the heat rush to his face and prayed he wasn't blushing. "I was hoping we could leave right after Connor's funeral," he said lamely.

"In the morning, then?" she said, approaching him again. Behind her, the door swung shut and he heard the locks clicking into place. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her, to which she responded with a knowing smirk.

"What's going on?" Logan asked, tilting his head curiously to one side, "You should be resting, you know. You were injured—"

"—no longer," she finished for him, waving it off dismissively, "I'm here for a reason."

"To talk?" Logan asked, though he felt like he sounded stupid for asking. He had an inkling—even if it was a small inkling—about what she really wanted from him tonight. A part of him desired it, but another would rather disappear into the ground below. Despite his rising panic, his eyes never left her. "Is something bothering you?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Yes, something _is _bothering me. 'Tis something that has been infuriating me since the first day I met you!" she replied almost impatiently, taking one step closer so that their faces were now inches away from each other, "We both know what I speak of."

"I'm not quite sure I follow," Logan muttered, feeling his intelligence evaporate, "I… get to the point."

"Gladly," Morrigan said, her voice dropping one or two octaves, and—not knowing what was taking a hold of her at that moment—reached out and took Logan's face in her hands, touched it, caressed it, before pulling him in and planting a kiss on his lips.

Logan was certain that at that moment, he had forgotten his entire name. He had forgotten where he was. _Logan James Amell, _he reminded himself in a bid to prevent a nervous breakdown from occurring, _You are a Grey Warden, sworn to defend the land against the Blight. _He shur his eyes tight and continued to chant his own name while inhaling the sweet scenet that reminded him of the forest and melted into the kiss, into her warm lips, unsure of what he was supposed to do next. He had, of course, never done this before. Knowing that Morrigan probably had prior experience left him even more unsettled, and he decided to stay completely still.

After what seemed like a second or two—in reality, it was much longer for Morrigan had no intention of simply giving him a peck on the lips—the witch broke away from the kiss. He opened his eyes, as though afraid that he was hallucinating or dreaming, and realized that she was smiling at him—a little too enthusiastically for it to be considered normal (well, for Morrigan, anyway)—and upon a closer inspection discovered that she was, in fact, attempting to stifle her laughter. He frowned instantly and crossed his arms over his chest and tried his utmost best to look displeased and offended.

"What's so funny?" he demanded indignantly.

Morrigan's smile did not fade from her lips. "You truly are still a boy," she teased, despite being surprised at how much _she _had liked kissing him. "Have you never… been with women?"

Logan ducked his head. "No," he replied simply, "You… would be the first."

Morrigan had always heard—while sneaking around villages in the form of an animal—young girls giggling with each other as they discussed "that cute farm boy" or "the baker's son", mentioning peculiar things that had resulted in perhaps the slightest interaction with the objects of their affection which included a "heart skipping a beat" or "stopping completely for a second or two". She had never understood it then, and simply dismissed it as a symptom of insanity, but as she stood in front of this handsome, however inexperienced, man, she felt like she could have been one of those girls, too. _Perhaps I have gone mad like them._

"Truly? Well, then, this will be interesting indeed," she said, her voice like silk. She reached out with one slender hand and cupped the mage's chin and lifted his face so that he was now looking directly at her. The intensity of his gaze nearly knocked her off balance as he looked—albeit too seriously, so much that she swore she almost found it adorable—as though he was searching for something other than her eyes.

She had seen this look too many times. The men she had been with had always looked like this, even at first sight, because they desperately wanted to be the first to find her soul. She almost smiled bitterly at this recollection, because all of them had, in the end, found that there was nothing in her eyes _and _her heart. They had fallen in love with something that cannot love them back—it was almost lamentable.

What was different now was that she, too, was searching something in those cerulean blue eyes.

"What do you…" started Logan, but decided against it and corrected his question, "What do we want?"

Morrigan gently caressed his cheek as she willingly lost herself in his eyes. It was a color she would probably never forget—it was a blue unlike any she had ever seen. It reminded her of sapphires and of the summer sky. It reminded her of the wide sea and vast—they say there are seven—oceans that she had yet to see with her own eyes. It had always been a dream of hers—one that Flemeth had repeatedly cast down without any qualms—and she somehow found herself more than content as she settled with his eyes. Had Flemeth ever felt this way before about any man, any man at all?

Her lips suddenly stretched into a small smile and felt breathless for a split second as her heart fluttered involuntarily. _No_, she thought to herself with a new certainty, _Flemeth would never have known what this feels like._

"We…" Morrigan said softly, tracing his lips with one finger, "want each other. Tell me, Logan… is that true?"

Logan seemed to hesitate at her question and looked away for a moment, nervous and extremely short of breath. _Maker, can this be any harder? _It was taking him everything to stop himself from taking her in his arms and kissing her again. He was aware that he had feelings for her, but had always regarded it as a passing infatuation for he had never looked at a woman as beautiful as her before, and up until now had not even been sure if she regarded him as a friend—a friend enough to have room for feelings to grow. And now, here she was, standing in front of him and practically offering a relationship to him and he couldn't even say a word. _Maybe she's right_, he thought, _maybe I am still a boy._

"You don't want this," Morrigan said quietly. Logan swore there was a trembling in her voice. The hurt was almost unmistakable, and he was half-heartedly wondering whether this was just a cruel nightmare. He could have, of course, fallen asleep at the table beside them, drooling all over his map and ruining the writings…

"I want this," he said finally, snapping out of his thoughts, "I want you. I want—I want us."

Morrigan heaved a sigh—of relief? Or happiness?—and, with her heart still beating rapidly with these seemingly innocuous feelings, took Logan's hand and pulled him towards the bed. He followed her willingly and held onto her, his small, shy smile growing into a hopeful beam. For the both of them, it was a moment—perhaps the only one they would have after tonight—they had to forget about the Blight, about Arl Eamon's sickness and just be with each other.

For the both of them, it was worth it.

Logan slowly drew her close for a warm embrace and leaned in to kiss her again. "Keep your eyes on me," Morrigan whispered in his ear, her warm breath sending shivers up his spine, as she undressed, "'Tis only us tonight. I want you to always remember things like this—remember you and I this way—no matter what."

He looked at her and nodded wordlessly. "Promise me," she whispered again.

Logan swallowed hard. "I promise you," he said, though her words sounded puzzling to him. He was already too intoxicated by everything about her—her eyes, her voice, her smile, the feel of her skin—to care too much about it, however, and just smiled. He looked into her eyes again and lost himself once more in the most beautiful creature, he was sure, he had ever laid his eyes on.

* * *

><p>When he awoke, Logan realized that he wasn't dreaming.<p>

Morrigan had been the first to wake up. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, he noticed that she was already looking at him. And the look on her face had been unlike any other expression she had dared to show to anyone. Her eyes had a newfound softness to them—something he was completely captured by—and there was a constant hint of a smile on her lips. It was refreshing and exhilarating—Logan knew that she probably didn't realize how much more beautiful she looked when she showed others her happiness. And then it hit him.

"You're happy," he whispered, not knowing whether it was a question or a statement. To his surprise, Morrigan smiled. Her golden eyes twinkled in the sunlight and he felt slightly dizzy as he had last night.

Last night had been the most incredible experience of his life.

"Yes," she said simply, reaching out to touch his face again. Her fingers traced the contours of his face and her eyes were filled with an amusing kind of concentration. It was almost as though she was trying to memorize his face—the color of his hair in the sunlight, the color of his eyes and how soft his skin felt under her touch—and trailed her fingers slowly toward his lips.

How his lips felt on hers. How his lips tasted to her. It was almost breathtaking—she had never regarded any man as beautiful, but Logan simply was a spectacular being. It helped that he thought the same of her. To her, it was startlingly different and something completely new, and while she knew feeling this way would ultimately bring regretful consequences, she didn't seem to care much. She pushed everything away to the back of her mind and drowned herself again in those pools of blue.

Logan loved watching her. Looking at her now and the way she watched him, too, Logan was sure that she loved doing the same to him.

"We should… get up and see if they're ready," Logan said, even though the last thing he wanted was to leave the bed and leave her side.

Morrigan smirked. "If they are ready, they will call us," Morrigan said, "Forget about the blasted Blight and everything else and come back here."

Logan was already moving closer to her and wrapped his arm around her naked form when a knock startled them both. "Logan?" came Teagan's voice from behind the door, "Are you awake yet?"

"Say no," Morrigan urged softly.

"That would defeat the purpose of supposedly being asleep, Morrigan," Logan whispered back, laughing as he kissed her on the forehead. Reluctantly, he rolled out of bed and slipped on his smallclothes and walked towards the door, reaching out for the knob. He opened it only slightly, so that Teagan only saw Logan. "I am now," he said with a smile.

"I trust you had a good sleep?" Teagan said, making to push the door open so he could enter, but Logan didn't budge. At first, the Bann was alarmed, but then suddenly seemed to understand something and smiled knowingly at the young mage. "I see that you did, after all."

"Yes," Logan admitted sheepishly, scratching his head, "So—what time is the funeral?"

"In about an hour," Teagan said, nodding. There was no longer any trace of a grimace or sadness in his eyes. It seemed that moving on was necessary, especially in these times of trouble. "Is that enough time for you to… prepare?"

"Of course," Logan replied, ignoring the sinking feeling that reminded him that one hour was not enough time for him to roll around in bed with the beautiful witch behind him and pack up afterwards. He would have to do what was more important and, while every fibre of his being was screaming out the fact that Morrigan was the most important thing to him right now, convinced himself that the Arl's health was the top priority. "I'll see you later then, Bann Teagan?"

The Bann nodded and, after shooting Logan one more smirk, turned to leave. Logan closed the door and turned around with an amused grin on his face. Morrigan was visibly disgruntled that he had chosen to leave the bed, but at least his spot was still warm when he returned.

"We have to go in an hour," he told her.

"Blast it," Morrigan cursed, allowing herself to be taken into Logan's arms again, "I had hoped for a longer morning."

"You don't look like the kind to sleep in, really," Logan teased, earning a glare from the witch. "But if it makes you feel better, I'd want more time alone with you, too."

The witch smirked. "You are very cute when you're clingy."

"You're just as bad as I am," Logan stated proudly, beaming at Morrigan. She snorted and merely relaxed in his arms, choosing to hide the fact that she, too, mirrored his sentiments. Everything to her was as new as it was to him, but she didn't want him to know that. She knew she had to continue to be one step ahead of him, especially since—

"What are you thinking of?" he said, bringing her out of her thoughts. Once again, he was looking at her with those curious blue eyes. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe again.

"'Tis an unimportant thought," she said, brushing it off, "But if you must know, then know that I am wondering about life without the Blight. I can barely remember my own life before this happened. Before _you _walked into the Wilds."

"I wasn't the only one," Logan grinned, "but I understand if all you say was me."

"Fool boy," Morrigan said, pretending to be annoyed at his coy behaviour, but the smile on her face betrayed her feelings.

* * *

><p>The funeral was held in the front courtyard of the castle grounds, with Connor's body placed in a magnificent white coffin with the Guerrin family crest on it. Isolde and Teagan stood side by side, the younger woman holding onto her brother-in-law for support. She had been determined not to cry from the start, but upon watching Sten the Qunari lower Connor's body into the coffin, gave in to her emotions as any mother would have, for her son was dead. Her sobs seemed to punctuate Mother Hannah's every sentence as Logan watched on in silence with Alistair and Morrigan on either side of him.<p>

The others stood behind the three, looking on as Mothere Hannah began to pray for Connor's soul—that he might find his place at the Maker's side. Logan lowered his head as though out of respect and the rest followed suit, as Teagan stepped forward to light the coffin on fire. He was just about to take the torch from Ser Perth when Isolde let out a loud cry and fell to her knees.

"Please," she cried, tears streaming down her face, "Don't take him away from me!"

As though on instinct, Alistair stepped forward and placed his hand on Isolde's shaking shoulder, offering a silent consolation, but was shoved aside violently. Seething, Isolde proceeded to get back on her feet and slap Alistair right across the face, to which he accepted without protest. Logan decided to step in then as Isolde readied herself for another blow to her son's killer, and quickly placed himself between the angry Orlesian noble and his friend.

"Lady Isolde, please," he said calmly, shaking his head, "This is unnecessary."

"Unnecessary!" spat Isolde, "He killed my _son_!" Teagan was already pulling her away from them, but she continued shrieking. "I will never forget this, Alistair! You never should have come back! You killed my son! I won't let you off—"

"Enough!" roared Teagan. Suddenly, even Mother Hannah fell silent. Logan had never seen the Bann this agitated before, and certainly made a note not to ever test those waters. It seemed to have a sobering effect on the sobbing Arlessa, and she slowly dropped to her knees again, muttering Connor's name weakly. "Ser Perth, please escort the Arlessa back into the castle and get one of the servants to make her something to eat."

It was then that Logan noticed how pale Isolde had been since the start of the funeral. He took one last, brief look at Isolde, who was already being led back into the castle, and finally turned back to Alistair. His fellow Warden didn't seem to be bothered in the slightest by Isolde's outburst and assault, and Logan gripped his shoulders firmly.

"You alright?" he asked, and once the tension had lifted, Mother Hannah permitted Teagan to set fire to Connor's coffin once more.

Alistair watched wistfully as the flame slowly swallowed the pearly white coffin and his lips stretched into a small, weak smile. "I think I deserved that," he said quietly, so that Logan was the only one who could hear him, "I killed her son. I killed the son of the man who loved me and raised me as his own. I should be the one who's dead—"

"Don't even go there, Alistair," Logan said sternly, "No one's blamed you but Isolde—and yourself. She's just lost her only son—it's only normal that she must grieve. But the fault is not yours—it's hers. She should've sent Connor to the Circle and not hire an apostate to teach him in private. Connor lost control of his own powers and gave in to his desire to save his father's life. You had no choice."

"I could have…" Alistair's voice trailed off as he sighed heavily and shook his head, deciding against arguing. "Alright."

Logan smiled briefly at Alistair, as though offering him words of unspoken encouragement, and turned back to face what was once previously a white coffin that glistened in the late morning sun, now a huge, warm flame that engulfed the entire thing and Connor's body along with it. Logan had never been to many funerals—he remembered only attending his grandfather's, but he did not remember crying. While he had been close to old grandfather Aristide Amell, Logan had not shed a tear.

Aristide had always told him to be the better man—to be strong where others were weak in spirit. Logan had been raised to admire his grandfather instead of his missing father, and was raised with the burning desire to be exactly like Aristide, the man whom people drew their strength from when they found none in themselves. He hadn't even cried when the templars took him away from his mother's comforting embrace—instead, Logan had sworn to return to his mother one day as a free man.

It wasn't until he received a letter informing him of his mother's dead that he shed his first tear in a long time. It was directly after dinner with the other apprentices when Irving had called him into his office. Logan remembered his eleven-year old self crying in front of the First Enchanter. He cried, though in utter shame, and did not stop until an hour later. After he was sent to bed—escorted by an uncharacteristically gentle and quiet Greagoir—Logan dreamt of his grandfather.

His grandfather had told him to be strong, and that he was taking care of Revka for him. His grandfather had made him promise that this would be the first and last time he would cry, and that any other time would have to be braved without shedding a single tear.

The strangest thing Aristide had said to him, however, remained etched in Logan's memory banks forever. "Your father would be so proud of you," Aristide had said with a proud smile on his face, "as much as I am."

He was remotely aware that the funeral was over, but made no move to gather the others as they began to either interact with the Bann, each other or keep to themselves. He felt a presence beside him, but kept his thoughts on his dead grandfather.

"You are not with us," Morrigan's voice stated. All images of his grandfather vanished immediately, and Logan turned to face the witch.

"I was… thinking," Logan told her. Her hand reached out to brush a few loose strands of hair from his face as her eyes studied him.

"Who else occupies your thoughts?" asked Morrigan, a ghost of a smile visible on her face, "It'd best not be any other woman."

Logan smiled as he thought of Aristide again. "A man I respect," he said, not taking his eyes off Morrigan, "My grandfather. Aristide Amell."

"Ah," said Morrigan, "And what of your father, if I may ask? 'Tis merely my opinion, but shouldn't most men first admire their fathers and model themselves after them?"

"My father left my family before I could properly remember him," Logan sighed, "Mother never spoke of him. When she did, I didn't want to listen. So I don't know anything about him. I don't respect him, but I don't hate him either. I don't know what I feel about him, actually."

Morrigan's expression softened as her hands found his. "I am… sorry."

"Don't be," Logan said quietly, "He is an absent figure that doesn't have any effect on me. It doesn't matter."

"Then I suppose your grandfather must have been as admirable as you," Morrigan teased, squeezing his hand.

Logan chuckled. "Does that mean I've successfully earned your admiration, my lady?"

"You still have a long way to go before you earn the admiration of I, a Witch of the Wilds," Morrigan said, rolling her eyes, "I am not one to be easily swayed."

"That's not what I saw in bed this morning."

Much to Logan's amusement, Morrigan scowled and marched off. He wasn't sure if it was because she was offended or that she knew it was the truth. Either way, he now found a strange, new joy in teasing the beautiful temptress amidst their newfound intimacy.

"What an odd-looking couple you two make," Garrett said, suddenly appearing by his cousin's side, "But I knew it'd happen sooner or later. Looks like I won the bet—"

"Wait, what? You were betting on us?" Logan turned to face his cousin and narrowed his eyes. "Who else was in on it?"

Garrett smirked. "My sister and Alistair, though the latter was the only one that refused to take our side. He believed you had good judgment."

"Hawke, she calls me childish," Logan said, glancing at Morrigan's retreating figure, "But I'm sure I'll seem like a man to her once she gets to know you long enough."

"Ouch," Garrett grinned, "I love you too, Amell."

Logan ignored his cousin and slowly began rounding the rest up. It took him a while to find Sten, who had planted himself the furthest away from the sizeable gathering that had consisted of grateful villagers that had either come to thank the Warden and his companions for saving Redcliffe or wish them well on the quest that would save their arl, but he eventually managed to find the entire group and they returned to the middle of the courtyard once the coast was clear.

"To Denerim, then?" Sirius piped, sounding rather excited, "If we're going, my sister and I can probably open up the Cousland estate father bought a few years ago for us—"

"Slow down, Cousland," Garrett said, smirking at the excited young man, "We're going to find a cure for a dying arl, not attend a party."

Sirius fell silent, visibly disgruntled and embarrassed. His twin sister placed a slender hand on his shoulder and squeezed it in an act of comfort, her eyes encouraging.

"They seem inexperienced," Sten said gruffly.

Logan was about to protest when Leliana cut him to the chase. "That's not true, you didn't see how wo—how skilled Levy was with a dagger. And Sirius… perhaps he will one day surpass me in archery—"

"Levy—?" Garrett raised his eyebrows and glanced at Leliana. He smirked. "Which one of them's called Levy?"

Alexandra cleared her throat. "That's my middle name, Levana—"

"Well, isn't that _adorable_—"

"Shut up, Hawke," Alexandra and Leliana both said at the same time, shocking Garrett into silence. Logan hid his smile behind his hand as Sten said loudly, "That is not the point! I speak of their maturity. Who is to say they will not blindly charge in and bring us all to our doom? I will not tolerate bringing children along on this—"

"We're not—" Sirius started vehemently, but was held back by Alexandra, much to his dismay.

"You assume too much," Logan said, moving over to stand between the Qunari and the twins, "and I know you have a problem when it comes to accepting younger individuals, but I ask that you give them a chance. Trust me when I tell you that I trust the twins."

Once upon a time, Sten would have easily retorted and ignored the remainder of the conversation, but now he'd already seen how capable—however young—Logan could be. Not only was the mage smart and able to think on his feet like a rogue, he was also calm enough not to overlook the importance of strategy and better judgment that could turn to the tide of any battle. He had now come to respect Logan Amell and decided that, for this proof of capability, he would listen and see where that would take them.

Logan nodded as the Qunari held his silence and began to address the rest of the group as a whole.

"Denerim," he started, "For now, it's our only lead to the cure we seek. I'm sure Loghain has caught wind of the Grey Wardens' survival, so it probably won't be a walk in the park. Once we arrive, we'll split into two groups. One will be led by me, and the other by Garrett. I will take Alistair, Leliana and Morrigan to see Genitivi while the rest of you remain in the Cousland estate. After we extract information from Genitivi, we will decide on the party that will retrieve these ashes of Andraste."

"And the rest that don't?" Bethany asked.

"You'll be our backup," Logan asked, "The situation is still too uncertain for me or anyone else to decide that it's safe enough to split up and let another group recruit allies for the army against the darkspawn. Who knows what Loghain has up his sleeve?"

"He will do anything to secure the throne," Alistair said grimly, "Even if it meant killing Ferelden's last hopes against the Blight."

"And letting darkspawn engulf the entire land and perhaps all of Thedas if he decides to share," Garrett added, for good measure. Bethany nudged her brother in the ribs and shook her head.

Logan walked up to the Redcliffe guard and gestured for the gate to be lifted. The guard smiled at him—a silent vote of confidence—and hurriedly pulled the lever to make way.

As the new leg of their journey began, Logan couldn't help but feel apprehensive about the magical properties of the ashes. He could not put to rest the anxieties that plagued him as they left Redcliffe, and only ceased his thoughts when Morrigan caught up to him.

"I feel like we're just blindly following and eating into their superstitious beliefs," Logan said, before Morrigan even asked why he looked so troubled, "What if it's not worth the journey?"

"'Tis a chance everyone is most willing to take," Morrigan said, "Let us not waste it."

"I never saw you as the type who would put her faith in others—much less the Maker and his bride and a bunch of ashes," Logan said, a smile playing upon his lips.

Morrigan's eyes flickered toward the slowly setting sun. "If you will not fill that role, then I will have to suffice."

Logan glanced at Morrigan and let out a soft sigh. "Thank you," he said to her, and while she did not reply, her hand had slipped into his for a brief moment just so she could squeeze his hand, offering words that were not spoken aloud: _I am with you, and I will always be. No matter what happens._

_Perhaps_, Logan thought with a wider, more confident smile, _perhaps we have a fighting chance._


	15. Author's note  PLEASE READ

**Hi all! dinkleberg here.**

**I'm writing this note to inform everyone that I've decided to do a reboot of Emergence, seeing as how this was written during a period in time where I faced quite a few setbacks and obstacles-obstacles to writing a good story like I should have. Characters were OOC, many character interactions/dialogue were either too long-winded or perhaps lacking of that kick we get in the game and the plot progresses slowly but not interestingly. **

**Seeing as how I've already graduated from high school, there is now enough time for me to take things slowly-not as slow as delays lasting a few months or so-to carefully develop and pen each chapter properly. I hope you will still stay with this story and watch out for Emergence-entirely new, but not so different from this one.**

**The first chapter is already up, so please visit my profile and take a look. **

**Thanks for the reviews and hits. Hope you'll do the same for the reboot.**

**love,  
>dinkleberg <strong>


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